"You aren't attracted by soldiering?"
"Not a bit. I won't pretend it, Daddy. I think the whole business is a bore. Germany seems to me now just like some heavy horrible dirty mass that has fallen across Belgium and France. We've got to shove the stuff back again. That's all...."
He volunteered some further remarks to his father's silence.
"You know I can't get up a bit of tootle about this business," he said. "I think killing people or getting killed is a thoroughly nasty habit.... I expect my share will be just drilling and fatigue duties and route marches, and loafing here in England...."
"You can't possibly go out for two years," said Mr. Britling, as if he regretted it.
A slight hesitation appeared in Hugh's eyes. "I suppose not," he said.
"Things ought to be over by then—anyhow," Mr. Britling added, betraying his real feelings.
"So it's really just helping at the furthest end of the shove," Hugh endorsed, but still with that touch of reservation in his manner....
The pause had the effect of closing the theoretical side of the question. "Where do you propose to enlist?" said Mr. Britling, coming down to practical details.