“Very, for us to run such risks; and of course it isn’t according to rule. But it’s an exception. Let’s argue it out, for it does look ugly.”
“Go on,” I said, “for I want my conscience cleared.”
“Look here, then; what are we going to do?”
“Try and get help, of course.”
“Then I consider that sufficient excuse for anything—in a corps of irregulars. Old Briggs would say it was mutinous in the regular army. To go on: if we asked leave, the Colonel or Major would say we were mad, and that we are not fit. Then— Oh, look here, I’m not going to argue, Val. I confess it’s all wrong, only there’s one thing to be said: we’re not going to desert our ranks, for we’re both on the sick-list; and, come what may, I mean to go and bring help somehow. You’re not shirking the job after sleeping on it?”
“No,” I said emphatically. “Now for breakfast, and then we’ll have a talk with Joeboy.”