“Stand steady, you there!” roared the sergeant major, who having got control of his men, began to indulge himself in a few telling and descriptive adjectives.
In less than two minutes, the men were standing steady as a rock and the panic was passed.
“Who was it that laughed up there in that stampede?” inquired the O. C., when the officers were gathered about him in the orderly room.
“I think it was the Sky Pilot, sir—the chaplain, sir,” said Lieutenant Stewart Duff.
“Was it you that laughed, Captain Dunbar?” asked the colonel, turning upon Barry.
“Perhaps I did, sir. I'm sorry if—”
“Sorry!” exclaimed the colonel. “Dammit, sir, you saved the situation for us all. Who told you it was a false alarm?”
“No one, sir. I didn't know it was a false alarm. I was looking at Lieutenant Duff—” He checked himself promptly. “I mean, sir—well, it seemed a good place to laugh, so I just let it come.”
The colonel's eyes rested with curious inquiry upon the serene face of the chaplain, with its glowing eyes and candid expression. “A good place for a laugh? It was a damned good place for a laugh, and gentlemen, I thank God I have one officer who finds in the face of sudden danger a good place for a laugh. And now I have something to say to you.”
The O. C.'s remarks did not improve the officers' opinion of themselves, and they slunk out of the room—no other word properly describes the cowed and shamed appearance of that company of men—they slunk out of the room. They had failed to play the part of British officers in the face of sudden peril.