"Now we're all right, Dick," remarked Malcolm as the postman handed him a parcel containing the anxiously-awaited inner tube. "I'll be able to give you a lift down to Springfield on Saturday. What! More of them? A regular budget, Mike!"
Mike the postman grinned approvingly as he handed over four newspaper packets and half a dozen letters, while Dick's consignment showed that that worthy was by no means forgotten.
The first letter Malcolm opened was from his brother Peter--"Somewhere in France".
"DEAR MALCOLM (it ran),
"U-boats and other noxious German insects permitting, I hope this will reach you. I cannot say much beyond that we are very busy on our sector of the Front. I'm afraid you'll be too late to join me out here, unless the war goes on for another two or three years. Our chaps are of the opinion that it won't. We are having a thundering good time, with plenty of excitement. I have a Hun helmet for you. I gained it properly, after a tough scrap in a mine gallery, but cannot give details. It's no more risky out here than it is driving juggernaut through the market-square on a Saturday night. By the by, how goes the old chariot? Must knock off now, as I have to write to the guv'nor. It is now a quarter to five, and we parade at half-past for (words deleted with blue pencil).
"Your loving brother,
"PETER S. CARR."
The next letter was from Malcolm's father, above referred to as the "guv'nor".
"DEAR MALCOLM,
"Just received a cablegram: 'No. 04452, Sergeant P. Carr, reported wounded and missing.' There are no further details, but as several of our Christchurch friends have received similar news, it is evident that the Nth reinforcements have been in the thick of it. Just what Peter wanted, dear lad! Cannot write more, as I can hardly realize the import of the cablegram. Hope to see you on Saturday.