Gruffly, ‘You’re all right.’
‘If I am, you are.’ It is a winning face that Mr. Torrance turns on his son. ‘I suppose you have been asking yourself of late, what if you were to turn out to be a funk!’
‘Father, how did you know?’
‘I know because you are me. Because ever since there was talk of this commission I have been thinking and thinking what were you thinking—so as to help you.’
This itself is a help. Roger’s hand—but he withdraws it hurriedly.
‘They all seem to be so frightfully brave, father,’ he says wistfully.
‘I expect, Roger, that the best of them had the same qualms as you before their first engagement.’
‘I—I kind of think, father, that I won’t be a funk.’
‘I kind of think so too, Roger.’ Mr. Torrance forgets himself. ‘Mind you don’t be rash, my boy; and for God’s sake, keep your head down in the trenches.’
Roger has caught him out. He points a gay finger at his anxious father.