‘Father!’
‘Yes, we have come back to hard facts, and the defender of the house is the head of it.’
‘Me? Fudge.’
‘It’s true. The thing that makes me wince most is that some of my contemporaries have managed to squeeze back: back into youth, Roger, though I guess they were a pretty tight fit in the turnstile. There is Coxon; he is in khaki now, with his hair dyed, and when he and I meet at the club we know that we belong to different generations. I’m a decent old fellow, but I don’t really count any more, while Coxon, lucky dog, is being damned daily on parade.’
‘I hate your feeling it in that way, father.’
‘I don’t say it is a palatable draught, but when the war is over we shall all shake down to the new conditions. No fear of my being sarcastic to you then, Roger. I’ll have to be jolly respectful.’
‘Shut up, father!’
‘You’ve begun, you see. Don’t worry, Roger. Any rawness I might feel in having missed the chance of seeing whether I was a man—like Coxon, confound him!—is swallowed up in the pride of giving the chance to you. I’m in a shiver about you, but——It’s all true, Roger, what your mother said about 2nd Lieutenants. Till the other day we were so little of a military nation that most of us didn’t know there were 2nd Lieutenants. And now, in thousands of homes we feel that there is nothing else. 2nd Lieutenant! It is like a new word to us—one, I daresay, of many that the war will add to our language. We have taken to it, Roger. If a son of mine were to tarnish it——’
‘I’ll try not to,’ Roger growls.
‘If you did, I should just know that there had been something wrong about me.’