"There isn't."
He went to the bookshelf where he kept his drawing-blocks.
"I wouldn't sit down and draw if I were you. There isn't time."
"There'll be less after Saturday."
He sat down and began to draw. He was as absorbed and happy as if none of them had ever heard of Canada.
He chanted:
"'Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered.'"
The pencil moved excitedly. Volumes of smoke curled and rolled and writhed on the left-hand side of the sheet. The guns of Balaclava.
"'Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.'"
A rush of hoofs and heads and lifted blades on the right hand. The horses and swords of the Light Brigade.