Black smiled a little wanly. “No. I rather wish they had. It might give me something to think about. What is it? You are full of some news—I can see that. Did you do me the honour of coming to tell me about it?”
Red laughed. “That’s like you. Anybody else would have left me to get around to it gradually, if he’d even noticed that I seemed to be bursting with news. Well, I am. And I had to blow off to somebody right now. Saw your light and knew you were mulling over some self-appointed task at this unholy hour. Thought it would probably be good for you to turn your attention to a fellow-sufferer.”
Black’s sombre eyes rested intently on Red’s face. Red had thrown his hat upon one chair, his motoring coat upon another, and had seated himself astride of a straight and formal manse chair, facing its back. His face was deeply flushed; his eyes held all manner of excited lights.
“You’re no sufferer,” was Black’s decision. “What is it? You’re not—off for the war?”
“You’ve got it. That’s exactly what I am. Had a cable half an hour ago from my friend Leaver at the American Hospital at N——. He says come along as fast as I can get there. He can use me, or have me sent to the front line, as I prefer. If Jack Leaver says come, that settles it. I’ll go as quick as I can get my affairs in order, take my physical tests, have my inoculations, and put through my passports. How’s that?”
“It’s great. Of course you’ll get to the front as fast as possible—I know you. I congratulate you—heartily.” Black got up and came over, his hand out. Red seized it. He hung onto it, looking up into Black’s face.
“Come on, too!” he challenged.
“I wish I could. I can’t—yet.”
Red dropped the hand—or would have dropped it if it had not been withdrawn before he had the chance. He scowled.
“Why not?”