William Saint agreed politely. He had no intention of being hit in either place, but he kept that to himself. Already he was secretly enrolled amongst the would-be profiteers, and resolutely determined to extract good from an ill wind. Sir Geoffrey stated the nature of his errand. The village must set an example to less beatified hamlets, such as Ocknell, for example. Did William think the younger men would come forward with enthusiasm? William was doubtful about the enthusiasm. With discreet pressure from Authority, they might be induced to follow the example of George Mucklow. The Squire slapped his thigh.
"I am very pleased with George Mucklow. A snug billet shall be kept for him."
William smiled, not very pleasantly.
"His father, Sir Geoffrey, used pressure."
"Did he, b'Jove? And very proper, too. Uncle is one of the right sort. Even his weaknesses are endearing. The truth is, William, in such damnable times as these we must keep an eye peeled for the good in our fellow-men, and wink the other discreetly."
Perhaps William profited by this advice, and winked the eye farthest from Sir Geoffrey. After more conversation, dealing strictly with recruiting methods to be applied to a community essentially peace-loving, Sir Geoffrey walked off and on, very well satisfied with his talk with an old servant. William apostrophised his diminishing figure in language never printed nowadays.
As the Squire walked down village he, too, like the Parson, thought seriously of what he should say to his people when he met them in the school-house. He was not concerned with spiritual issues. As a former M.F.H., he went a-hunting recruits with the same ardour and resource formerly consecrated to foxes. With profoundest sincerity he wished that he were of an age to bear arms. Indeed, he had offered himself, as an ex-Guardsman, quite ready to tackle a new drill-manual, to an old schoolfellow, now a general at the War Office. Sound advice had been tendered him.
"You can serve your country, Pomfret, on your own pitch. We shall want men and food. Food may become the more difficult problem."
Hence the allusion to tightened belts.
Sir Geoffrey walked briskly, reflecting complacently upon his excellent physical condition. He might be slightly dazed in mind, but fit as a fiddle in body. An odd expression that! What constituted a "fit" fiddle? Obviously, an instrument tuned to the right pitch. He felt taut all over. What had kept him fit at an age when many men of his acquaintance were falling into the sere and yellow stage of life? Sport. To scrap sport filled him with apprehension. So far, sport in England went on as usual. When he visited Euston to make enquiries concerning Russians, he had seen many cheery-looking fellows on their way north, bent on slaying grouse and stags, reasonably convinced in their own simple minds that, Germans or no Germans, the world must wag on as before. Sir Geoffrey was not so optimistic. He knew much better. Already the supreme sacrifice of an only son had been demanded of him and made instantly. Other sacrifices bulked larger and larger in the immediate future. Standing in his fine hall, with the portraits of dead-and-gone Pomfrets looking down upon him, he had smelt anticipatingly the pungent odours of carbolic acid and iodoform. The stately saloon must be turned into a ward—! The mere thought was hateful, but he never flinched from it. Let the poor boys come! He would welcome them with courtesy and geniality. A Mandarin predicted a five-shilling-in-the-pound income tax! The Squire had responded generously to the Prince of Wales's Fund.