"Well"--Captain Blaikie began to fill his pipe--"who takes about nine-tenths of the risk, and does practically all the hard work in the Army? The private and the subaltern--you and your picket, in fact. Now, here is the problem which has puzzled me ever since I joined the Army, and I've had nineteen years' service. The farther away you remove the British soldier from the risk of personal injury, the higher you pay him. Out here, a private of the line gets about a shilling a day. For that he digs, saps, marches, and fights like a hero. The motor-transport driver gets six shillings a day, no danger, and lives like a fighting cock. The Army Service Corps drive about in motors, pinch our rations, and draw princely incomes. Staff Officers are compensated for their comparative security by extra cash, and first chop at the war medals. Now--why?" "I dare say they would sooner be here, in the trenches, with us," was Bobby's characteristic reply. Blaikie lit his pipe--it was almost broad daylight now--and considered. "Yes," he agreed--"perhaps. Still, my son, I can't say I have ever noticed Staff Officers crowding into the trenches (as they have a perfect right to do) at four o'clock in the morning. And I can't say I altogether blame them. In fact, if ever I do meet one performing such a feat, I shall say: 'There goes a sahib--and a soldier!' and I shall take off my hat to him." "Well, get ready now," said Bobby. "Look!" They were still standing at the trench junction. Two figures, in the uniform of the Staff, were visible in Orchard Trench, working their way down from the apex--picking their steps amid the tumbled sandbags, and stooping low to avoid gaps in the ruined parapet. The sun was just rising behind the German trenches. One of the officers was burly and middle-aged; he did not appear to enjoy bending double. His companion was slight, fair-haired, and looked incredibly young. Once or twice he glanced over his shoulder, and smiled encouragingly at his senior. The pair emerged through the archway into the main trench, and straightened their backs with obvious relief. The younger officer--he was a lieutenant--noticed Captain Blaikie, saluted him gravely, and turned to follow his companion. Captain Blaikie did not take his hat off, as he had promised. Instead, he stood suddenly to attention, and saluted in return, keeping his hand uplifted until the slim, childish figure had disappeared round the corner of a traverse. It was the Prince of Wales. XX THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES