I had not observed the extra stripe. "You'll be an officer soon, my dear," I said.
"There happens to be a special reason," he confessed, colouring, "why I should like to get a commission. By-the-bye, now are all the Hilliers? And how's the dad trundling along?"
I told him of his father's new engagement. Herbert, seated at the table, so soon as the meal was ready, could not help breaking off in conversation to return to the subject.
"Fancy the old chap holding such a good hand of trumps!"
"And doing more work for his country, I'll be bound, than many a Staff Officer."
"And the last time I heard him speak in public, he was arguing that we ought to abolish the army and reduce the navy."
Presently, he asked a serious question. "How does he manage about his aitches?"
"It's my belief," I declared, "that half of his success is due to the fact that he doesn't bother in the least concerning them."
Herbert, on the way to the base, had, it appeared, met the Quartermaster-Sergeant; he said that Cartwright spoke, with enjoyment, of the first day of his leave, and insisted upon giving all the details, excepting (I was relieved to find) the last incident at Charing Cross. Herbert said that Cartwright was a good man at his job—which I could well believe—and one of the toughest and sternest N.C.Os. in the British army—which seemed to me incredible. Herbert wished to spend the days of his leave at Greenwich, and I went off to air his father's bed for him.
"Whilst I think of it," he said, when I returned. He was about to put a match to his briar pipe, but held it free of the tobacco whilst he spoke. "Did I ask you how Miss Muriel was, or did I, perhaps, only mean to do so?"