“Good God!” he cried, “were you born like that?”
For Chipmunk, having gone to the barber’s, was clean-shaven, and revealed himself as one of the most comically ugly of the sons of men.
“Never mind,” said Oliver, after a while, “you’ve made the sacrifice for your country.”
“And wot if I get the face-ache?”
“I’d get something that looked like a face before I’d talk of it,” grinned Oliver.
At the family dinner-table, Doggie being present, he announced his intentions. It was the duty of every able-bodied man to fight for the Empire. Had not half a million just been called for? We should want a jolly sight more than that before we got through with it. Anyway, he was off to-morrow.
Burford, who was handing him potatoes, arched his eyebrows in alarm. He was fond of Oliver.
“With Chipmunk.”
Burford uttered an unheard sigh of relief.