“We’ve just got to get her,” Wally said, between his teeth. “It seems to me there’s only one thing to do: we must telegraph for the patrol-boat, and, meanwhile, watch every night at low tide. It’s a comfort that they can’t get into the cave at any other time, isn’t it? I say, Jim, your father said we were kids to bring our revolvers with us—but isn’t it a mercy we did!”
“Rather!” Jim said. The revolvers had been new toys; they had not felt able to part from them. “And O’Neill has one, too—you remember, he said we might have some shooting-practice in these lonely parts and teach Norah how to use one.” He became silent, suddenly, and Wally, watching his thoughtful face, did not interrupt him. After a while he spoke, half-apologetically.
“I say, Wal, old chap.”
“Yes?”
“Look here,” Jim said. “It’s your show as much as mine, of course, and I won’t do anything to which you don’t agree. But——” he stopped again.
“Oh, do go on!” said Wally. “Say it!”
“Well, it’s just this. We’ll get lots of shows later on, if we’ve any luck: not so important as this, perhaps, but still, there ought to be chances. Anyhow, we’re able to go out to the Front and do our bit. And that poor chap isn’t.”
“O’Neill?” Wally said. “No.”
“Well—do you see what I mean?”
“It takes brains,” said Wally, laughing. “But I think I do. You want to make this his show?”