“Goin’ to call up the grandads, I see,” said the Corporal, grimly.
“Aye!” The Mayor laughed bitterly. “Fat lot o’ use they’ll be when they’ve got ’em. Muddle, muddle, muddle.” Like the Corporal, he was in a very black humor. “It’s a mercy the Yankees are with us now—if they are not in too late.”
“Fancy muckin’ it,” said the Corporal, “with the game in our hands. A year ago we’d got ’em beat.”
“Press government,” said Josiah savagely.
The Corporal proceeded to chew a good cigar. “Dad,” he said at last, and it was the first time in his life he had addressed his former employer so familiarly, “I’m thinking I’ll have to go before the Medical Board again.”
Josiah combed an incipient goatee with a dubious forefinger. “But, my boy, from what you told me, you thought you could get your discharge any time you liked to ask for it.”
“That was back in January.”
“You’re no fitter now than you were then, are you?”
The Corporal slowly stretched his right leg to its full length, and then, gathering it under him leant his whole weight upon it. “I’m much firmer on my pins than I was then.” His rough voice suddenly regained its usual gentleness. “Work seems to suit me.” He laughed rather wryly. “I expect the Board’ll pass me now—if I ask ’em to.”
It was the turn of Josiah to maltreat his cigar. “Not thinking of going back into the Line, are you?”