"Why not?" persisted Bilderbaum.
Meyer's eyes contracted. He had the air of a wise man dealing with a foolish one; and when he spoke it was with more than a touch of impatience.
"The enemy's guns are now half-way up the hill," he said. "When they have kindly brought them the whole way we shall have something to say to them."
"And they may have something to say to us," retorted the General.
Meyer shrugged his shoulders, as if convinced of the hopelessness of trying to instil intelligence into the other's skull.
"If I were you," went on Bilderbaum, "I should send a couple of regiments full pelt against those guns. We might bring off a very effective ski-charge down the slope."
"And lose fifty or sixty men," sneered Meyer.
"It would at any rate be fighting. At the present moment we're lowering the morale of our troops by palsied inaction."
"If General von Bilderbaum were in supreme command of his Majesty's forces," said Meyer, "I have no doubt that the battle would be short, sharp, and decisive—only the decision would not be in our favour."
Von Bilderbaum flushed scarlet. He was essentially a fighting man, with the fighting man's contempt of the Jew, and his calculated inactivity.