“I know, Mother dear. One gets to speak of it so. War is horribly callousing. If it were not no man could stick it out. But we think of them differently, I assure you, and nothing is left undone that we can do for them. You’ve heard from the boys, of course.” “We’ve had several letters, just hasty scraps----” “That’s all one has time for, and we’re not allowed to say much, you see.” “How long can it possibly go on, do you think?” “I can’t imagine how it’s ever going to come to an end. You see they’re dug in and we’re dug in, and neither of us can make any advance. Seems to me an absolute stalemate and as if it might go on so for ever.” “How awful to think of!” said Vic. “Can’t you get round them somehow and turn them out of their holes?” “We haven’t a quarter enough men. That’s why it’s been so rough on those that were there. We can beat them at fighting any day, even at three to one odds, but they outnumber us many times more than that. How’s Kitchener’s new lot getting on?” “They’ve come in splendidly, and they’re working hard and look very fit--those that have got their uniforms. The rest look like convicts, but they’ll be all right when they’re decently dressed.” “Well, I tell you,--we want every man of them, and as quickly as possible. Our long thin line is terribly pressed, and our losses are heavier in consequence. It’s rough on the nerves, you see. One day in and one day out of the trenches would be all right. But five days and nights on end is a bit tough. Lots have been invalided home almost dotty with the strain.” He had a great time and savoured every second of it. He had hot baths till he felt respectable, and got a cold in the head as a consequence, and went up and had a Turkish bath in town and thought of the icy water of the trenches as he sat in the hottest room. He went up to Head-Quarters, and saw the new chiefs there and some old chums who had been unable for various good reasons to go out with the rest. But most of his time he spent with Lois--golden hours which both felt might possibly be the last. Three days later he was back at Brigade Head-Quarters, and one of the first things he saw was Noel Dare kicking a fine goal in a game of soccer, Draft _v._ Veterans, and Gregor MacLean, who was better at golf than at footer, cheering him for all he was worth. They all three forgathered when the game was over and the crowd had finished booing the referee, and Noel, in the pride of his goal and brimful of youthful eagerness, broke out, “I say, Sir Raglan, can’t you get them to get a move on? We chaps came out to fight and we’ve done nothing yet but play footer and route-march. It’s almost as bad as being at home.” “You wait till you get five days and nights in the trenches, my son, with water up to your knees and the rest of you nothing but mud, and you’ll be wishing you were back here having a holiday.” “Bet you I won’t! We’re just aching to have a slap at those beastly Boches, aren’t we, Greg?”