scribble his initials in the proper place. Warrington, humming to
himself, began to squeeze the rain out of his tunic to hide
impatience. The soldier saluted, faced about and hurried to the
waiting car. Then Kirby read the telegram. He nodded to Warrington.
Warrington, his finger-ends pressed tight into his palms and his
forearms quivering, raised one eyebrow.

"Yes," said Kirby.

"War, sir?"

"War."

"We're under orders?"

"Not yet. It says, 'War likely to be general. Be ready.' Here, read
it for yourself."

"They wouldn't have sent us that if--"

"Addressed to 0.C. troops. They had those ready written out and sent
one to every O.C. on the list the second they knew."

"Well, sir?"

"Leave the room, Lal Singh!"

The servant, who was screwing up his courage to edge nearer, did as
he was told.