He stepped into the car and caught hold of the wheel, finding time to whisper—
"I've never driven one of these dam' things, George."
There was a convulsive movement in the crowd, and a knot of men ran up to the side of the car.
"Aren't you going to take us, sir?" they demanded.
"There are plenty of recruiting offices if you want to join," he answered, rapidly counting the men with his eyes. "I want all or none and I hoped when you knew your own friends were fighting and others were going out to help...." He broke off and looked eagerly at the faces in front of him. "We should have made a fine show!" he cried, his voice ringing with excitement. "I—I've never let a man down yet, and you'd have stood by me, wouldn't you? We've never had a chance like this before—to risk everything so that if we're killed we shall have spent our lives to some purpose, and if we come back—however maimed—we shall have done the brave, proud thing. I wanted Kestrell on my right...."
He shrugged his shoulders slightly and buttoned his coat, but the excitement in his voice and black eyes was infecting the crowd.
"Never mind him, sir," urged the little group round the car.
With sudden decision O'Rane jumped out and walked to the steps of the Cross where Kestrell was standing. Not a man moved, but every eye followed his progress, and in the silence of the crowded square there was no sound but the light tread of his feet.
"Let's part friends, Mr. Kestrell," he said. "You were the only one here with pluck enough to speak against this war."
"It's an unrighteous war!" cried Kestrell, two spots of colour burning vividly on his white cheeks.