of your battalion. Presently, if you escape a stray bullet, you
will no doubt be a Brigadier. It is a wonderful war for youth and
brains. But ... I take it you are in this business to serve your
country, Hannay?'

'I reckon I am,' I said. 'I am certainly not in it for my health.'

He looked at my leg, where the doctors had dug out the shrapnel
fragments, and smiled quizzically.

'Pretty fit again?' he asked.

'Tough as a sjambok. I thrive on the racket and eat and sleep like
a schoolboy.'

He got up and stood with his back to the fire, his eyes staring
abstractedly out of the window at the wintry park.

'It is a great game, and you are the man for it, no doubt. But
there are others who can play it, for soldiering today asks for the
average rather than the exception in human nature. It is like a big
machine where the parts are standardized. You are fighting, not
because you are short of a job, but because you want to help
England. How if you could help her better than by commanding a
battalion - or a brigade - or, if it comes to that, a division? How if
there is a thing which you alone can do? Not some _embusque_ business
in an office, but a thing compared to which your fight at Loos was
a Sunday-school picnic. You are not afraid of danger? Well, in this
job you would not be fighting with an army around you, but alone.
You are fond of tackling difficulties? Well, I can give you a task