“I’ll see,” said the captain. “Too soon to make rash promises—and your father might have a word to say in the matter. We’ll have a talk about it this afternoon. You can tell any one that you’re going to hear my gramophone.” He smiled at them encouragingly, and the deputation, understanding that it was dismissed, withdrew. On the boat-deck, it broke up into three, each unit rejoining the main body of the passengers separately, with an elaborate air of unconcern.
“We were wondering what had become of you,” remarked John West, whom they found, with two or three of the younger men, talking to Mr. Linton. “Some one was hunting for you two fellows to play cricket.”
“Sorry,” Jim said. “Are they playing?”
“I don’t think so—it fell through. There are really not enough passengers to get up games. Some of the more energetic are talking of a sports committee—but I’m dead against it this side of Durban. We shall probably pick up more people there.”
“You’re coming on to London?” Jim asked.
“Oh, yes—Grantham and Barry and I mean to stick together if we can, and try to get into the same crowd; we don’t care what it is, but we’d prefer a mounted one. You two had better come along with us. We’d be a pretty useful lot.”
“Thanks,” said the boys, flattered at the invitation from older men. “It would be jolly.”
“I’m a bit doubtful as to its being jolly at all,” said Grantham, laughing. “From all I can read it’s going to be a particularly beastly business, and I rather think a good deal of the ‘romance of war’ will disappear over it. The only thing is that it would be less jolly to stay out of it.”
“Yes; you’d feel a bit of a waster, to stand out, wouldn’t you?” West said. “Everybody’s going to be in it before long, I’ll bet—it will be a sort of International Donnybrook Fair.” He raised his voice to include Mr. Smith, who was standing by the rail, looking out to sea. “Going to join when you get home, Smith?”
“To join?” said the stout one, turning. “To join what?”