“Well, the same thing applies, in a less degree. I believe, too, that they are all under Government supervision, and I must admit I’ve no hankering after that. We wouldn’t be able to call our souls our own; and we’d be perpetually irritated by Government under-strappers, interfering with us and giving orders—no, I don’t think we could stand it. You and I have always run our own show, haven’t we, Norah—that is, until Jim came back to boss us!” He smiled at his tall son.
There was a pause.
“Well, Dad—you always have ideas,” said Norah, in the voice of one who waits patiently.
Mr. Linton hesitated.
“I don’t know that I have anything very brilliant now,” he said. “But I was thinking—do you remember Garrett, the fellow you boys used to tell us about? who never cared to get leave because he hadn’t any home.”
“Rather!” said the boys. “Fellow from Jamaica.”
“He was an awfully sociable chap,” Wally added, “and he didn’t like cities. So London bored him stiff when he was alone. He said the trenches were much more homelike.”
“Well, there must be plenty of people like that,” said Mr. Linton. “Especially, of course, among the Australians. Fellows to whom leave can’t mean what it should, for want of a home: and without any ties it’s easy for them to get into all sorts of mischief. And they should get all they can out of leave, for the sake of the War, if for nothing else: they need a thorough mental re-fitting, to go back fresh and keen, so that they can give the very best of themselves when the work begins again.”
“So you think of making Sir John’s place into a Home for Tired people?” said Norah, excitedly. “Dad, it’s a lovely plan!”
“What do you think, Jim?” asked Mr. Linton.