“You are quite right, sir,” said Barry. “I am ashamed of myself. I'll be fit in a few minutes.”
“Don't apologise for one moment,” said the colonel, “if you felt any less deeply than you do, you'd be something less than a man. We'll get into touch with the Divisional Headquarters, and try to get the facts.”
He had no sooner reached his private room than his signaller informed him that Divisional Headquarters had just been trying to get him. It took some time, however, to get the message through. Meantime, the Colonel was handling Barry with a wise and skillful touch. He made him eat and eat heartily, seeking to divert his mind in the meantime from the disaster that had befallen the battalion to the big issues at stake, and pointing out with resolute cheerfulness that the calamity that had befallen the battalion was only a temporary setback.
“We're winning, my boy, and we're paying the price,” he said.
At length signals got the D. H. Q. and called the colonel to the phone. After a few minutes' conversation, the O. C. called Barry.
“The general wants to speak to you, padre,” and Barry with an apprehensive heart went to the phone.
“Oh, that you, Captain Dunbar?” It was the general's voice and somehow it carried with it an atmosphere of calm and cheerful confidence. “How are you getting on?”
“Oh, sir, very well. We are terribly anxious, of course.”
“That's natural,” said the general quietly. “We have had rather a serious reverse. Your whole brigade met with wire, and I fear they suffered heavily. The men behaved with great steadiness and are still splendidly holding. We are, of course, making every effort to relieve them, and with good hope of success.”
“Have you heard of my O. C.?” inquired Barry.