back."

It was good advice, but Grim, standing behind the brigadier, made
signals to Jeremy in vain. Few Australians talk peace when there is no
peace, and when there's a fight in prospect they like to get it over.

"I remember you," said Jeremy, speaking rather, slowly, and throwing in
a little catchy laugh that was like a war-cry heard through a
microphone. "You were the Fusileer major they lent to the Jordan
Highlanders--fine force that--no advance without security--lost two men,
if I remember--snakebite one; the other shot for looting. Am I right?
So they've made you a brigadier! Aren't you the staff officer they sent
to strafe a regiment of Anzacs for going into action without orders? We
chased you to cover! I can see you now running for fear we'd shoot you!
Hah!"

Grim took the only course possible in the circumstances. The
brigadier's neck was crimson, and Jeremy had to be saved somehow.

"Touch of sun, sir--that and hardship have unhinged him a bit. Suffers
from delusions. Suppose I keep him here until the doctor sees him?"

"Um-m-m! Ah! Yes, you'd better. See he gets no whisky, will you? Too
bad! Too bad! What a pity!"

Our three visitors left in a hurry, contriving to look devilish
important. Grim followed them out.

"Rammy, old cock," said Jeremy, sprawling on the bed again and laughing,
"don't look all that serious. Bring back your brigadier and I'll kiss