Their eyes met the next instant with so meaning a look in them that both burst out laughing, Dickenson holding out his hand, which was taken at once.
“I forgive old Roby,” he said.
“So do I,” said Lennox frankly. “Heat and hunger do upset a man’s temper. See our fellows out there?”
He pointed in the direction where he had seen the mounted figures, feeling for his glass the while.
“Not our men,” said Dickenson, following his example, and together they produced their glasses.
“Oh yes,” said Lennox. “I am certain it was they.”
“And I’m as certain it was not,” cried Dickenson.
Their eyes met again; but this time they felt too serious to laugh, and were silent for some moments.
Dickenson then said frankly:
“Look here, old chap, there’s something wrong with us. We’ve got the new complaint—the Robitis; and we’d better not argue about anything, or we shall have a fight. My temper feels as if it had got all the skin off.”