Part 27 (2/2)
”Oh, rather,” said Blake vaguely. ”But a lot of us just wanted a look in at the fun!”
”Well--you got a good deal for a start,” said Garrett.
”Yes--Abdul gave us all we wanted on his little peninsula. But he's not a bad fighting-man, old Abdul; we don't mind how often we take tea with him. He's a better man to fight than Fritz.”
”He could pretty easily be that,” Garrett said. ”It's one of the worst grudges we owe Fritz--that he's taken all the decency out of war. It used to be a man's game, but the Boche made it one according to his own ideas--and everybody knows what they are.”
”Yes,” said Hardress. ”I suppose the Boche will do a good deal of crawling to get back among decent people after the war; but he'll never live down his poison-gas and flame-throwers.”
”And wouldn't it have been a gorgeous old war if he'd only fought clean!” said Garrett longingly. They drew together and talked as fighting men will--veterans in the ways of war, though the eldest was not much over one-and-twenty.
The sudden hoot of a motor came from the drive, far-off; and then another, and another.
”Some one's joy-riding,” said Harry Trevor.
The hooting increased, and with it the hum of a racing car. The gravel outside the porch crunched as it drew up; and then came cheery voices, and two long figures in great coats dashed in: Jim and Wally, eager-eyed.
”Dad! Norah! Where's old Harry?”
But Harry was grasping a hand of each, and submitting to mighty pats on the back from their other hands.
”By Jove, it's great to see you! Where did you come from, you old reprobate? Finished Johnny Turk?”
Gradually the boys became aware that there were other people in the hall, and made apologies--interrupted by another burst of joy at discovering Garrett.
”You must think us bears,” said Jim, with his disarming smile, to Mrs.
West. ”But we hadn't seen Trevor for years, and he's a very old chum.
It would have been exciting to meet him in Australia; but in England--well!”
”However did you manage to come?” Norah asked, beaming.
”Oh, we got leave. We've been good boys--at least, Wally was until we got your message this morning. Since then he has been wandering about like a lost fowl, murmuring, 'Harry! _My_ Harry!'”
”Is it me?” returned Wally. ”Don't believe him, Nor--it was all I could do to keep him from slapping the C.O. on the back and borrowing his car to come over.”
”I don't doubt it,” Norah laughed. ”Whose car did you borrow, by the way?”
”Oh, we hired one. It was extravagant, but we agreed that it wasn't every day we kill a pig!”
”Thank you,” said Harry. ”Years haven't altered your power of putting a thing nicely!” He smote Wally affectionately. ”I say, you were a kid when I saw you last: a kid in knickerbockers. And look at you now!”
”Well, you were much the same,” Wally retorted. ”And now you're a hardened old warrior--I've only played at it so far.”
”But you were ga.s.sed, weren't you?”
”Yes--but we hadn't had much war before they ga.s.sed us. That was the annoying part.”
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