"Six days! Are you sure of that, Peter Starkley?"
"As sure as that's my name, Mr. Hammond. And the adjutant sent you two telegrams, asking why Jim didn't return to duty when his pass was up—and he didn't get any answer. If you didn't get one or other of those telegrams, then there is something wrong somewhere."
Mr. Hammond's face clouded. "I didn't get any wire, Peter—and Jim went away day before yesterday, to visit some friends," he said.
They eyed each other in silence for a little while; both were bitterly embarrassed, and the storekeeper was numbed with shame.
"I'll go for him," he said. "If I fetch him to you here, will you promise to—to keep the truth of it quiet, Peter—from his mother and sister and the folk about here?"
"I'll do the best I can," promised the corporal, "but not for Jim's sake, mind you, Mr. Hammond. Capt. Long is for giving him a chance because of his brother, Pat, over on Salisbury Plain—and that's why he sent me alone, instead of sending a sergeant with an escort."
"I'll go fetch him, Peter," said the other, in a shaking voice. "You go along to Beaver Dam and come back to-morrow—to see Vivia. When Jim and I turn up you meet him just like it was by chance. Keep your mouth shut, Peter. Not a word to a living soul about his only having six days. He's not well, and that's the truth."
A dull anger was awake in Peter by this time.
"Something the matter with his feet," he said and left the store.
Here he was, told to be tactful by Capt. Long and to keep his mouth shut by Mr. Hammond, all on account of a sulky, lazy, bad-tempered fellow who had been a disgrace to the battalion since the day he joined it. And not a word about stopping for dinner!