“What on earth are all those books?” “Provender. It appears we may rot at the depot 72for weeks. I’ve just seen a chap who’s in my regiment.” 72 Campton felt a sudden relief. The purchase of the books proved that George was fairly sure he would not be sent to the front. His father went up to him and tapped him on the chest. “How about this——?” He wanted to add: “I’ve just seen Fortin, who says he’ll get you off”; but though George’s eye was cool and unenthusiastic it did not encourage such confidences. “Oh—lungs? I imagine I’m sound again.” He paused, and stooped to turn over the books. Carelessly, he added: “But then the stethoscope may think differently. Nothing to do but wait and see.” “Of course,” Campton agreed. It was clear that the boy hated what was ahead of him; and what more could his father ask? Of course he was not going to confess to a desire to shirk his duty; but it was easy to see that his whole lucid intelligence repudiated any sympathy with the ruinous adventure. “Have you seen Adele?” Campton enquired, and George replied that he had dropped in for five minutes, and that Miss Anthony wanted to see his father. “Is she—nervous?” “Old Adele? I should say not: she’s fighting mad. La Revanche and all the rest of it. She doesn’t realize—sancta simplicitas!” La Revanche sancta simplicitas! “Oh, I can see Adele throwing on the faggots!” 73Father and son were silent, both busy lighting cigarettes. When George’s was lit he remarked: “Well, if we’re not called at once it’ll be a good chance to read ‘The Golden Bough’ right through.” 73 Campton stared, not knowing the book even by name. What a queer changeling the boy was! But George’s composure, his deep and genuine indifference to the whole political turmoil, once more fortified his father. “Have they any news—?” he ventured. “They,” in
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