Peter Pastmaster and the absurdly youthful Colonel of the new force were drawing up a list of suitable officers in Bratt’s Club.
“Most of war seems to consist of hanging about,” he said. “Let’s at least hang about with our own friends.”
“I’ve a letter from a man who says he’s a friend of yours. Basil Seal.”
“Does he want to join?”
“Yes. Is he all right?”
“Perfect,” said Peter. “A tough nut.”
“Right. I’ll put him down with Alastair Trumpington as your other subaltern.”
“No. For God’s sake don’t do that. But make him liaison officer.”
“You see, I know everything about you,” said Angela.
“There’s one thing you don’t know,” said Basil. “If you really want to be a widow again, we’d better marry quick. I don’t think I told you. I’m joining a new racket.”
“Basil, what?”
“Very secret.”
“But why?”
“Well you know things haven’t been quite the same at the War House lately. I don’t know quite why it is, but Colonel Plum doesn’t seem to love me as he did. I think he’s a bit jealous about the way I pulled off the Ivory Tower business. We’ve never really been matey since. Besides, you know, that racket was all very well in the winter, when there wasn’t any real war. It won’t do now. There’s only one serious occupation for a chap now, that’s killing Germans. I have an idea I shall rather enjoy it.”
“Basil’s left the War Office,” said Lady Seal.
“Yes,” said Sir Joseph, with sinking heart. Here it was again; the old business. The news from all over the world might be highly encouraging and, poor booby, he believed it was; we might have a great new secret weapon and, poor booby, he thought we had; he might himself enjoy a position of great trust and dignity poor booby, he was going, that afternoon, to address a drawing-room meeting on the subject of “Hobbies for the A.T.S.” but in spite of all this, Basil was always with him, a grim memento mori staring him out of countenance. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose he has.”
“He has joined a special corps d’elite that is being organized. They are going to do great things.”
“He has actually joined?”
“Oh, yes.”
“There’s nothing I can do to help him?”
“Dear Jo, always so kind. No. Basil has arranged it all himself. I expect that his excellent record at the War Office helped. It isn’t every boy who would settle to a life of official drudgery when everyone else was going out for excitement like Emma’s silly girl in the fire brigade. No, he did his duty where he found it. And now he is getting his reward. I am not quite sure what they are going to do, but I know it is very dashing and may well have a decisive effect on the war.”
The grey moment was passed; Sir Joseph, who had not ceased smiling, now smiled with sincere happiness.
“There’s a new spirit abroad,” he said. “I see it on every side.”
And, poor booby, he was bang right.