“He wouldn’t believe you—any more than he believed Bareton. The old man’s as weak as water. You know that as well as I do.”
Peter controlled the impulse to hit Locksley in the face, and asked: “Is that all?”
“Oh, of course”—Locksley fell into the trap—“when we come to alloting the Captaincies. Let’s see”—he referred to a list—“you haven’t got any Captains in ‘B’ yet. If the Major goes. . . .”
This was news indeed. Now, Peter saw the plan whole. With complacent Company-Commanders and a weak Colonel, Locksley’s position would be unique.
“Is the Major going?” he asked—playing for time.
“Between you and me and the gatepost”—Locksley winked—“the W.O. has just asked if he is ‘considered fit to command a battalion.’ ”
Thought Peter: “What a swine! Still—if it weren’t for Bromley, I’d accept. I could run the show as well as most people.” Said 2nd Lieutenant Peter Jameson: “There’s a good deal in what you say. But I must have a little time to make up my mind. By the way, you don’t object to my taking a day or so extra at Christmas.”
“Not a bit, my dear fellow, not a bit.”
Meanwhile, men died in Flanders.