“Well—there are ever so many more ignorant than you.”
“That’s the awful part of it,” Jim said soberly. “I believe there are—and that says a heap! I know just enough to be sure I’ve got to start learning and work at it like fun. But one hears that half the fellows think that they can mug up the whole game in a month, and go cheerily out to the Front. Well, it’s all very well if you’re a private. But if you’ve even one star you may be responsible for other men’s lives.” He shrugged. “It’s a queer country. Why on earth can’t they catch them young and train them, as they do in Australia? It never hurts any of us!”
“Dad says they will have to do it some time.”
“So they will. But if they had done it before, there mightn’t have been a war at all.”
Down the corridor they heard the clash of the lift-door shutting, and then quick steps.
“Here’s Wally,” Jim said, smiling. “He’s been struggling into his Sam Browne belt. You just see if he doesn’t look topping!”
Wally burst into the sitting-room like an avalanche.
“Hallo, Norah, I’m so glad you’re up! Better?—truly—honest? You look a bit sorry on it—poor old girl. We’re going to get you out this afternoon—the sun is actually shining, and goodness knows, it may never occur again!” He brought his heels together with a click, standing before her, tall, and straight, and merry. “How does the kit look, Nor?”
Behind him, David Linton came in quietly. Like Norah, he looked from one to the other; boys only, big and brave in their new khaki with its touches of brass and leather—manhood very close before them.
“You both look beautiful—that is, your uniforms do!” said Norah. “We’ll be exceedingly proud to go out with you, won’t we, Dad?”