“After which you’ll try them on the dogs—meaning us,” Jim said, laughing. “Well, if we don’t go into hospital after them, we’ll let you know.”
They came into the house, where already the news of the boys’ going had spread, and the “Once-Tired’s,” as Wally called their guests, were waiting to wish them luck. Then everybody faded away unobtrusively, and left them to themselves. They went into the morning-room, and Norah darned socks vigorously while the boys kept up a running fire of cheery talk. Whatever was to come they would meet it with their heads up—all four.
They made dinner a revel—every one dressed in their best, and “playing-up” to their utmost, while Miss de Lisle—the only person in the house who had wept—had sent up a dinner which really left her very little extra chance of celebrating Peace, when that most blessed day should come. Over dessert, Colonel West rose unexpectedly, and made a little speech, proposing the health of the boys, who sat, for the first time, with utterly miserable faces, restraining an inclination to get under the table.
“I am sure,” said the Colonel, “that we all wish the—ah—greatest of luck to our host’s sons—ah, that is, to his son and to—ah—his—ah——”
“Encumbrance,” said Wally firmly.
“Quite,” said the Colonel, without listening. “We know they will—ah—make things hot for the Boche—ah—whenever they get a chance. I—we—hope they will get plenty of chances: and—ah—that we will see them—ah—back, with decorations and promotion. We will miss them—ah—very much. Speaking—ah—personally, I came here fit for nothing, and have—ah—laughed so much that I—ah—could almost believe myself a subaltern!”
The Tired People applauded energetically, and Mrs. West said “Quite—quite!” But there was something like tears in her eyes as she said it.
The Hunts arrived after dinner, and they all woke the house with ringing choruses—echoed by Allenby in his pantry, as he polished the silver; and Garrett sang a song which was not encored because something in his silver tenor made a lump come into Norah’s throat; and there was no room for that, to-night, of all nights. Jack Blake sang them a stockrider’s song, with a chorus in which all the Australians joined; and Dick Harrison recited “The Geebung Polo Club,” without any elocutionary tricks, and brought down the house. Jim had slipped out to speak to Allenby: and presently, going out, they found the hall cleared, and the floor waxed for dancing. They danced to gramophone music, manipulated by Mr. Linton: and Norah and Mrs. Hunt had to divide each dance into three, except those with Jim and Wally, which they refused to partition, regardless of disconsolate protests from the other warriors. It was eleven o’clock when Allenby announced stolidly, “Supper is served, sir!”
“Supper?” said Mr. Linton. “How’s this, Norah?”
“I don’t know,” said his daughter. “Ask Miss de Lisle!”