"A man who would sell himself and his friends would not stay bought; and, somehow, I do not feel that the integrity of the British Empire should be maintained by purchasing her enemies."
"But then there are our lives!"
"Our lives don't figure in this proposition," and once again Smoothbore smiled.
Herbert felt his Chief was trifling with him and with the situation, so he rose from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out upon the quadrangle. This movement hid the flush of annoyance that had come over his face. He made an excuse, and found his way out of the office.
"If only I were in command here," he thought, "I'd clap these fellows on the Wood-pile, and then——"
After that point no well-defined line of action suggested itself to him.
Meanwhile, Smoothbore continued writing his report to Ottawa, telling of his suspicions, and explaining his action, or want of action. He intended to hold back the communication until the last moment—until he was satisfied that "something would not turn up," which would certainly be close to the crisis. Then he would confide it to a trusty scout and send to the "outside." While he was writing his mind constantly played with the facts of his own position. It pleased him to compare it with that of Gordon in Khartoum; with these differences, that, for him, assistance was out of the question, and his enemies were not fanatical and were Christian. His would be a soldier's death, if "something did not turn up."