"Granted," agreed Entwistle. "The Navy's all right; the New Army is splendid--we'll muddle through somehow, in spite of the miserable legacy of the Wait and See crowd. There's a hymn beginning 'A people who in darkness sat.' That sums up the whole state of the civil population of Great Britain. To my mind the nation resembles a mass of iron filings spread out on a sheet of paper--all sixes and sevens. A magnet will instantly cause those particular pieces of metal to fly into orderly formation following the lines of magnetic force: a Man will be able to do the same with the nation, only, unfortunately, we haven't yet found the Man. We as Britons trust too much to chance--to a sort of voluntary organisation of labour. Result, every man is asking why some one else doesn't do his bit and tries to persuade himself that he is a sort of indispensable himself, I shouldn't be surprised if the war ends in a patched-up peace." "No fear," asserted Barcroft firmly--so emphatically that Entwistle almost relaxed his grip upon the steering wheel and narrowly avoided collision with a brewer's dray. "There'll be nothing of the sort. The men who are now fighting mean to see the business through and not leave the horrors of war to be repeated with triple violence as a legacy to their children and their children's children. It's got to be done--and done it will be, even if it takes another two years." When in due course the car arrived at the narrow lane leading to Ladybird Fold, Entwistle, somewhat to his companion's astonishment, insisted upon driving right up to the house. "No hurry," commented the vet. "I like taking a car along a tricky path. Hullo! there are your dogs, Barcroft. They seem to know that I'm something in the animal line, and wish to be run over in order to give me a job." The car came to a standstill at the house. Peter descended, to be overwhelmed with the noisy and frantic attentions of Ponto and Nan. "Come in," he said, "May as well have tea with us." "Thanks, I will," replied Entwistle; then pointing in the direction of "The Croft," the tiled roof of which was just visible above the ridge of a hill, "Is that where Norton hangs out? I've heard of the place. What sort of a show is it?" "Come and see for yourself," said Barcroft. "There'll be time for a stroll before tea. I have the key, thanks to the magnificent condescension of Mrs. What's-her-name, Norton's generalissimo and domestic help. Why are you anxious to see the place? Thinking of renting it and being my nearest neighbour if Norton fails to return?" "Perhaps," laughed Philip Entwistle. "When I retire, and I cannot see myself doing that yet." "I wouldn't," said Peter gravely. "Retirement is a rotten state for a professional man to enter into. Sudden dislocation of his routine, nothing to occupy his mind--result, he generally pegs out in a couple of years. I've noticed it scores of times."