"What sort of people?"
"The men you know, and their wives and children; they're awfully nice, the ones I know—and if you see after them when they're ill and that, they're bound to be a bit fond of you, aren't they?"
Major Murray gave the cold little hand in his a squeeze. "It seems to me," he said, "that you're just the sort of chap we want. You stick to it."
"Is it very hard to get in?"
"Well, it isn't exactly easy, but it's dogged as does it, and if you start now—why, you've plenty of time."
"That's settled then," said Ger, "and when you're Medical Inspector-General or some big brass hat like the fat old gentleman who came to see Ganpy yesterday—you'll say a good word for me, won't you?"
"I will," Major Murray promised, "I most certainly will."
"You see," Ger continued, beaming through his spectacles, "if there's war I should be bound to go, they can't get on without the Ram Corps then, and I'd be doing things for people all day long. Oh, it would be grand."
"It strikes me," said Major Murray, more to himself than to Ger, "that you stand a fair chance of getting your heart's desire—more than most people."
"I'm very partikler about my nails now," said Ger. "I saw you scrubbing yours that day at the Cadet Hospital."