“Sui generis, Train, I should say,” drawled Hopeton.
“Suey, who did you say?” inquired Sally. “What's her second name? But let me tell you I could have fallen on his neck and burst into tears of gratitude. For me,” continued Sally, glancing about the room, “I don't hold with that dirt stuff at mess. It isn't necessary.”
“Beastly bad form,” said Hopeton, “but, good Lord! Your Commanding Officer, Sally! There's such a thing as discipline, you know.”
“What extraordinary thing is it that Sally knows?” inquired Major Bustead, who lounged up to the group.
“We were discussing the padre's break, Major, which for my part,” drawled Hopeton, “I consider rotten discipline.”
“Discipline!” snorted the major. “By Gad, it was a piece of the most damnable cheek I have ever heard at a mess table. He ought to be sent to Coventry. I only hope the O. C. will get him exchanged.”
The major made no effort to subdue his voice, which was plainly audible throughout the room.
“Hush, for God's sake,” warned Captain Train, as Barry entered the door. “Here he is.”
But Barry had caught the major's words. For a moment he stood irresolute; then walked quietly toward the group.
“I couldn't help hearing you, Major Bustead,” he said, in a voice pleasant and under perfect control. “I gather you were referring to me.”