"But I see he's not so mad as I supposed," the colonel went on.
"Sure you'd be the better of a voyage in her yourself," said O'Reilly.
"Thank you. I think I prefer the real article. Not many of these machines in the market, are there?"
"None, sir," replied Eves, promptly. "It's the first, a brand-new invention of my friend Templeton here, second lieutenant in the Blankshire Rifles. He's a repatriated prisoner of war, employing his leave in working out ideas that germinated in captivity. That accounts for his being improperly dressed."
"Indeed! Is this the Mr. Templeton who narrowly escaped gassing my old friend Colonel Beavis?"
"A pure accident, sir, due to the colonel's adventurous spirit and a loose screw. Templeton was very much cut up about it."
"Dry up!" growled Templeton in a fierce undertone.
"Well, I congratulate Mr. O'Reilly," said the colonel, his eyes twinkling. "I gather that but for Mr. Templeton's road yacht he wouldn't have got here till after twelve, and he seemed a little hurt when I told him that a few minutes are neither here nor there. One must give a time limit, of course; but I shouldn't have turned down a good offer that happened to arrive a few minutes late. But what's this?"
A crowd of privates, shouting vociferously, was approaching from the direction of the road. A few words were distinguishable in the babel. "This way, governor." "Two to one on the long un." And as the throng turned into the lane between the huts, among the khaki figures appeared Philemon Noakes and his fur-coated companion, trotting along in feverish haste. The soldiers fell back as they neared the commandant's hut, and the two civilians advanced alone.
"Are you the colonel?" asked Noakes, panting.