The soldiers, silent for a moment, in what seemed to Mr. Lavender to be sheer astonishment, began to fidget; then the one next him turned to his neighbour, and said:
“Are we, Alf? Are we doin' what the gentleman says?”
“I can answer that for you,” returned Mr. Lavender brightly; “for I can tell by your hospitalized faces that you are living in the present; a habit which, according to our best writers, is peculiar to the British. I assure you,” he went on with a winning look, “there is no future in that. If you do not at once begin to carve fresh niches for yourselves in the temple of industrialism you will be engulfed by the returning flood, and left high and dry upon the beach of fortune.”
During these last few words the half of an irritated look on the faces of the soldiers changed to fragments of an indulgent and protective expression.
“Right you are, guv'nor,” said the one in the middle. Don't you worry, we'll see you home all right.
“It is you,” said Mr. Lavender, “that I must see home. For that is largely the duty of us who have not had the great privilege of fighting for our country.”
These words, which completed the soldiers' conviction that Mr. Lavender was not quite all there, caused them to rise.
“Come on, then,” said one; “we'll see each other home. We've got to be in by five. You don't have a string to your dog, I see.”
“Oh no!” said Mr. Lavender puzzled “I am not blind.”
“Balmy,” said the soldier soothingly. “Come on, sir, an' we can talk abaht it on the way.”