“Toads aren't bad,” said Bob, laughing. “Ever seen the nice old fellow in the Zoo who shoots out a tongue a yard long and picks up a grub every time? He's quite interesting.”
“I certainly never had any inclination to do any such thing,” Cecilia laughed.
They had turned into Piccadilly and were walking down, watching the crowded motor traffic racing north and south. Suddenly Bob straightened up and saluted smartly, as a tall staff officer, wearing a general's badges, ran down the steps of a big club, and nearly cannoned into Cecilia.
“I beg your pardon!” he said—and then, noticing Bob—“How are you, Rainham?” He dived into a waiting taxi, and was whisked away.
“Did he bump you?” inquired Bob.
“No—though it would be almost a privilege to be bumped by anyone as splendid as that!” Cecilia answered. “He knows you, too!—who is he, Bobby?”
“That's General Harran, the Australian,” said Bob proudly. “He's a great man. I've run into him occasionally since I've been with the Australians in France.”
“He looks nice.”
“He is nice,” replied Bob. “Awful martinet about duty, but he treats every one under him jolly well. Never forgets a face or a name, and he's always got a decent word for everybody. He's had some quite long talks to me, when we were waiting for some 'plane or other to come back.”
“Why wouldn't he?” asked Cecilia, who considered it a privilege for anyone to talk to her brother.