"And you?"
"Don't ask me about it," I replied, lighting my pipe and feeling
thoroughly uncomfortable. "It's no part of a second-in-command's duty to
supervise the adjutant's correspondence."
"But--didn't he show it to you?"
"Now you ask me, he did."
"But--but--it would have put you in command of the battalion!"
"My dear sir," I explained gruffly, "a man can't take command of a
battalion if the adjutant neglects to publish the order which appoints
him." I felt horribly mean, but this seemed to me to be a case where
the dead could most conveniently bear the responsibility.
Suddenly Eric rose to his feet. I glanced at him, and flinched, for I
knew what was coming. The colour had come back to his face, and his blue
eyes were aglow. He was "up in the cloods." He came round to my side
of the table, and laid his hands on my shoulders. It was strange to
feel the lifeless weight of his artificial arm. I flinched again, and
made a testy reference to my comminuted collar-bone.
But Eric was not to be denied. He had been exposed to himself as an
incompetent and a failure; but what mattered more--solely--to him was
that the world did not know about it; Roy and I had saved him from that.
All that was grateful in his nature had been roused by that infernal
telegram. He sat down beside me and took my hand in his. I felt very
ridiculous.
"My God, old man," he said, "you saved me! You two saved me from being
broke! You, who might have commanded the battalion--and young Roy!
Young Roy! After what I had done to him--and--tried to do to him!"
"Oh, come!" I said. "You were a bit of a martinet, sometimes--the heavy
C.O., and all that--but there's no need to reproach yourself over Roy."
Eric let go my hand--greatly to my relief-- and began to walk about the
room. Suddenly he turned to me.
"Alan, old man," he said, "do you know exactly what I did to Roy? I
tried to take his girl away from him!"