Boylan was fighting for Peter's life as he would not have fought for his own; and yet he warmed to the commander—fibers all through him warming—something of man-business about this office that made the headquarters at Judenbach look sinister and den-like. It was just his hope in all likelihood.
“But Mr. Boylan,” Lornievitch added, “what would you do in my case? There's big action, front, side, within. They have a case against the others—and he is one of them.”
“He may be one in a momentary infatuation—”
“Nonsense, Boylan—this is no time for girls!”
“I grant you that, sir. But he is not a revolutionist. I've slept and ridden with him night and day. His paper wouldn't pay for cigarettes to do other than tell the story from the army end. If he's gone loco, I'll take him home under my arm—”
“I say, Boylan, what do you want of him this way? He's a newspaper competitor—”
“Mowbray got to me. Didn't try to, but he's there. Took the field as if it had been his work always. He's a friend, clever, courageous, a gentleman always, clean cut, a laugh, a hand—and a boy over it all. I didn't know—until I found him in danger. I couldn't feel worse if I were his old woman—I am twice his age, damn near—”
“You're invincible, Boylan. I'll tell you this: I feel better. That's worth something. Things look black here in the valleys. Something human I needed, in your coming. Go back now. Nothing will be done until the morning. We've had to shoot Austrian spies all day. Caught 'em red-handed. I feel red-handed, too. Go back, and before to-morrow morning I'll get an order over to straighten him out from the others—before final action is taken. Maybe I'll look him over myself. Good night.... Oh, I say, Mr. Boylan—”
“Yes, General.”
“Oh, it doesn't matter. I was just thinking I'd like to have one friend like young what's-his-name of The States has—”