Then, just as Jim had outgrown school and was becoming his father’s right-hand man on the station, came the world-upheaval of the European War, which had whisked them all to England. Business had, at the moment, summoned Mr. Linton to London; to leave Norah behind was not to be thought of, and as both the boys were wild to enlist, and Wally was too young to be accepted in Australia—though not in England—it seemed that the simplest thing to do was to make the pilgrimage a general one, and let the chums enlist in London. They had joined a famous British regiment, obtaining commissions without difficulty, thanks to cadet training in Australia. But their first experience of war in Flanders had been a short one: they were amongst the first to suffer from the German poison-gas, and a long furlough had resulted.
Mr. Linton and Norah had taken them to Ireland as soon as they were fit to travel; and the bogs and moors of Donegal, coupled with trout-fishing, had gone far to effect a cure. But there, unexpected adventure had awaited them. They had made friends with Sir John O’Neill, the last of an old North of Ireland family: a half-crippled man, eating out his heart against the fate that held him back from an active part in the war. Together they had managed to stumble on an oil-base for German submarines, concealed on the rocky coast; and, luck and boldness favouring them, to trap a U-boat and her crew. It had been a short and triumphant campaign—skilfully engineered by O’Neill; and he alone had paid for the triumph with his life.
John O’Neill had died happily, rejoicing in for once having played the part of a fighting man; but to the Australians his death had been a blow that robbed their victory of all its joy. They mourned for him as for one of themselves, cherishing the memory of the high-souled man whose spirit had outstripped his weak body. Jim and Wally, from exposure on the night of the fight, had suffered a relapse, and throat-trouble had caused their sick-leave to be extended several times. Now, once more fit, they were back in London, expecting to rejoin their regiment immediately.
“So now,” Jim said, “the only question is, what are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to think hard for a day,” said Norah. “So can you two; and we’ll ask Dad, of course.”
“And then Dad will tell you what to do,” said Jim, grinning.
“Yes of course he will. Dad always has splendid ideas,” said Norah, laughing. “But we won’t have any decision for a day, because it’s a terribly big thing to think of. I wish I was grown up—it must be easier to settle big questions if you haven’t got your hair down your back!”
“I don’t quite see what your old curly mop has to do with it, but anyhow, you needn’t be in a hurry to put it up,” said her brother. “It’s awful to be old and responsible, isn’t it Wally?” To which Wally responded with feeling, “Beastly!” and endeavoured to look more than nineteen—failing signally.
“Let’s go and look at the Row,” Norah said.
“Dad will find us all right, I suppose?” Jim hesitated.