One day, when Taffy was playing it with dreadful variations of his own to an admiring group in the Y.M.C.A. hut, Doggie, his nerves rasped to the raw by the false notes and maddening intervals, snatched it out of his hand and began to play himself. Hitherto, shrinking morbidly from any form of notoriety, he had shown no sign of musical accomplishment. But to-day the musician's impulse was irresistible. He played the _Marseillaise_ as no one there had heard it on penny whistle before. The hut recognized a master's touch, for Doggie was a fine executant musician. When he stopped there was a roar: "Go on!" Doggie went on. They kept him whistling till the hut was crowded. Thenceforward he was penny-whistler, by excellence, to the battalion. He whistled himself into quite a useful popularity. CHAPTER XI "We're all very proud of you, Marmaduke," said the Dean. "I think you're just splendid," said Peggy. They were sitting in Doggie's rooms in Woburn Place, Doggie having been given his three days' leave before going to France. Once again Durdlebury had come to Doggie and not Doggie to Durdlebury. Aunt Sophia, however, somewhat ailing, had stayed at home. Doggie stood awkwardly before them, conscious of swollen hands and broken nails, shapeless ammunition boots and ill-fitting slacks; morbidly conscious, too, of his original failure. "You're about ten inches more round the chest than you were," said the Dean admiringly. "And the picture of health," cried Peggy. "For anyone who has a sound constitution," answered Doggie, "it is quite a healthy life." "Now that you've got into the way, I'm sure you must really love it," said Peggy with an encouraging smile. "It isn't so bad," he replied. "What none of us can quite understand, my dear fellow," said the Dean, "is your shying at Durdlebury. As we have written you, everybody's singing your praises. Not a soul but would have given you a hearty welcome." "Besides," Peggy chimed in, "you needn't have made an exhibition of yourself in the town if you didn't want to. The poor Peddles are woefully disappointed." "There's a war going on. They must bear up--like lots of other people," replied Doggie. "He's becoming quite cynical," Peggy laughed. "But, apart from the Peddles, there's your own beautiful house waiting for you. It seems so funny not to go to it, instead of moping in these fusty lodgings." "Perhaps," said Doggie quietly, "if I went there I should never want to come back." "There's something to be said from that point of view," the Dean admitted. "A solution of continuity is never quite without its dangers. Even Oliver confessed as much." "Oliver?" "Yes, didn't Peggy tell you?" "I didn't think Marmaduke would be interested," said Peggy quickly. "He and Oliver have never been what you might call bosom friends." "I shouldn't have minded about hearing of him," said Doggie. "Why should I? What's he doing?"