‘Question,’ said Tosher.
‘It is a question,’ retorted Ginger, swinging round towards his interrupter, ‘but it’s a question concerning your educational defects. You are not taught these things in Canadian schools. It’s not your fault; it’s your Government’s. But there’s no excuse for Nobby. He accepts the whole “Democratic” scheme with all its blunders. You can carry out his ideas in a parish council, but you can’t do it with an army. And while I have endorsed a good deal of his plea for intellect, I am not blind to what we have accomplished. He’s a lawyer, but he’s not judicial, for he has not given the other side of the case. We started with an army of one hundred and seventy thousand strong. We now have an army of five millions. We have increased the corps of officers from ten thousand to one hundred thousand. When we started at Mons we had only shrapnel, and that was short. Now we have the finest Ministry of Munitions in the world. We have shipped an army of millions over the seas, and lost only two thousand men by drowning. Thanks to the navy, of course. There were no such schools of instruction in 1914; now there are hundreds. It’s all very wonderful. It has been done slowly, quietly, effectively. True, there have been horrible blunders, and we have had reverses. So has the enemy. But in all manœuvre battles we have beaten the Germans.’
‘Hear, hear, Ginger!’ some of us shouted.
‘Now you see where Nobby is wrong. He concentrates on the failures and forgets the triumphs. And that is the greatest defect of his Radical friends. For all that, I’m not going to say we’re perfect—no army is perfect—but I do say we, as a nation, have done our best. Certainly, there are much-needed reforms. I’m with Nobby on the subject of brains, but I’m not going to back up his horrible methods of smashing down to build up. You can’t do that in war-time! Graft the new on to the old, and we’ll win.
‘As for the school, it has been a priceless boon for fellowship. I’ve really learnt to love old Nobby, and tried to understand him. And Tosher, the man-eating, constitution-smashing Canadian—well, we’ve just taken him into our arms! Like all Colonials, he’s a good fellow. Then there’s Beefy—dear old Beefy—the king of the ballet, the god of the bar, yet the toughest devil who ever came out of Cambridge. He’s real good! John Brown, of course, is a dreamer. He revels in romance, girls, and philosophy. You’ll find him in a barrage writing to Adela and moralising about the smell. Finally, there’s dear old Pieface, the best fellow who ever wore a holy collar.
‘Now, to be serious, boys. I like the school; but I like you more. We’ve learnt a lot about war; but we’ve learnt more about each other. We may not live; but if we do, then “The Dauntless Six” will meet at Ciro’s, fill a bumper, and drink long and deep to the happiest school-days of our lives.’
‘Hear, hear, Ginger!’ we shouted as he sat down.
‘I guess I’ve got to get into this business with my feet,’ said Tosher.
‘Try your head,’ mumbled Ginger.
‘It’s right there, old child, every time,’ answered Tosher, touching his forehead. ‘We ain’t no one-eyed chicks from Alabama; we get our wisdom-teeth in a hard country, where the snow buries you for six months, and the sun bakes you in the summer. Why, it just makes me sad to see the Balliol joint pumping out, “Go slow,” “Steady up,” and calling old Nobby a Bolshevik. Nobby is the only spring chicken in the crowd—but you don’t understand him. He wants to sweep up all your old institooshuns, and give you all a real good time.’