“And you?” said Barry, turning upon the signaller, “tell me the truth.”
“Well, sir, it's just as I said. We had it over the wires. The battalion is going in.”
“Very well, get my stuff, Monroe,” said Barry, quietly. “I'm going back.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Do you hear me? Get my stuff; I'm not going out to-night.” Barry's tone admitted no further talk, and Monroe, swearing deeply at his friend the signaller and at his own stupidity, and especially at his own “lack of nerve to see his lie through,” hunted out Barry's baggage and stood ready for his officer to return.
“Hello, Dunbar,” said the major, as he saw Barry about to mount his horse. “What's up? Forgotten something? You'll surely miss your train.”
“I'm not going,” said Barry briefly, getting himself settled in his saddle.
“Not going!” exclaimed the major. “What do you mean? I thought you were on leave.”
“Changed my mind,” said Barry cheerfully.
“I say, old man,” said the major, “there may be nothing in what I told you about the push. Anyway, you know we cannot postpone our leave until all the fighting is over.”