It was the announcement of his “leave.”
“Well, what do you think of that?” said the O. C. “How does that suit you?”
“Well, sir,” said Barry, uncertainty and hesitation in his voice, “I'd like the leave, all right, but can I conveniently be spared just now?”
“Most certainly,” said the O. C., “and, what's more, I want you to go to-night. Can you get ready?”
“I suppose so, sir,” said Barry, wearily.
“By Jove! listen to him,” said the O. C. “He hates to leave us, doesn't he?” And they all laughed. “Now, Dunbar,” he said, “no more posing. You catch the leave train to-night at Poperinghe. As a matter of fact, I think it starts somewhere about twelve.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Barry. “I think I can catch it.”
“Then good luck!” said the O. C., rising from his chair. “Every one of us here would like to be in your place, but since it isn't himself, every man is glad that it should be you.”
Still Barry hesitated.
“I really hate to leave you, sir, just now,” he said. “I mean that,” he added with a little nervous laugh.