"I say, Windover, couldn't you bring him round one night?" enquired Dick Little.
"I'll try," said Windover. "He's stationed at Wimbledon now."
"And did he get the V.C.?" enquired the practical-minded Angell Herald.
"No, the D.S.O.," replied Windover, "with promotion to a first lieutenancy."
"What a shame," said Sallie, and turning to Windover she said, "You will bring him, Winnie, won't you?" Sallie and Windover are old friends.
And that is how the Boy became a "Night-Clubber." He is a strange combination of impudence and innocence; but there is one way of bringing him to heel. It was quite by accident that I discovered it.
One evening he had been roasting poor Angell Herald rather badly, and although that astute person was sublimely unaware of what was taking place, both Dick Little and I thought things had gone far enough.
I happened to have with me the manuscript of the story of how the Boy got his D.S.O. Without a word I started reading from it in a loud voice. I had not got six lines down the page before he slowly dragged himself out of the armchair in which he was lounging, his face crimson, and, walking towards the door, remarked:
"You'll find me on the mat when you've done reading rot."
That is the Boy all over.