"It’s rotten luck, I admit, boy. But in this case it doesn’t particularly matter. In a day or two, we hope, your observation post will be far in rear of us. Perhaps some clerkly gentleman from the base will be making his nest therein." Roy’s face brightened suddenly. "When do we push off?" he asked eagerly. "That is a secret known only to the powers above. But I shouldn’t be surprised if it were to-morrow, or the next day. The Colonel is away at a Brigade Conference now—the last, I dare say. He will probably call an officers’ meeting when he comes back." "Is Kilbride with him?" asked Roy quickly. "Yes. Why?" Roy smiled awkwardly. "Well, _you_ know!" he said. "Addressing you as Uncle Alan, and not as second-in-command, it’s a little difficult sometimes for us Hoy Polloy to gather from the C.O.’s account of the proceedings what really _is_ settled at these Brigade pow-wows. That is why we find it so useful to pump old Kilbride afterwards. The Colonel is such a fire-eater that he loathes all this chess-board warfare, as he calls it. His idea of fighting is to go over the parapet about a hundred yards ahead of his men, rush straight at the nearest German, and bite him to death. A pretty sound plan too, in many ways. The men would follow him anywhere." "You are right, Roy—they would. And addressing you, not in your official capacity, but as my nephew, that’s just what makes me anxious." "You mean you are not sure where he _will_ lead them?" "I am not sure where he _won’t_ lead them! However, we must not criticise our superiors. Go and have your tea, you disrespectful young hound, and then come and help your uncle to wrestle with B.213. Hallo, here is the Colonel!" There came a fresh sound of hooves; a neigh of welcome from the bored animal already tethered to the pump; and Eric Bethune and his adjutant rode into the yard. Eric had been sent to us after Loos—our first commander, Douglas Ogilvy, having been killed in a bomb-fight near Hulluch. (I remember the day well. The Germans were furnished with bombs which exploded on impact; ours were of the Brock’s Benefit type, and had to be lit with a match. Unfortunately, it was raining at the time.) I need not say how joyfully the coming of Ogilvy’s successor was greeted by the second-in-command. Eric came to us with a reputation. For nearly twelve months he had ruled an overcrowded and under-staffed depot at home, containing never less than two thousand turbulent ex-militiamen, and had licked into shape and self-respecting shape some of the toughest material that our country produces. After that, he had achieved his heart’s desire and been sent out, to be second-in-command of our First Battalion. His first proceeding on arrival was to organise a successful attack upon a valuable sector of the line lost by another unit ten days previously. He led the attack in person, and was mentioned in Dispatches.