“Did you ever dream that the army was like a giant without a head?”
“What did you say?”
Good gracious, what had he said? He replied, “Oh, nothing,” and bit his lips. It must be want of sleep. Fortunately Kavanagh did not hear. He was going on with his poetry.
“The Colonel, so gaily prancing, boys,
Has a wonderful way of advancing, boys,
Sings out so large
Fix bayonets and cha-a-a-rge,
It sets all the Frenchmen a-dancing, boys!
“What days they must have been, Dormer! You ought to have been a Colonel. Can’t you see yourself on a big brown horse, gaily prancing? There ought to be a school for gaiety, just as there is for bayonet fighting and bombing. Can’t you imagine yourself in a shako, like a top hat, with the brim in front only, glazed, with whacking great numerals?”
Dormer wanted to say: “You’ve got a marvellous imagination!” which would have been intended as an unfavourable criticism. But the words stuck on his lips. Instead he said: