eally liked. I don't quite know how father left it to me.

JAMES (coldly). You come into your money when you are twenty-five.
Your father very wisely felt that to trust a large sum to a mere boy of
twenty-one was simply putting temptation in his way. Whether I have the
power or not to alter his dispositions, I certainly don't propose to do
so.

PHILIP. If it comes to that, I am twenty-five.

JAMES. Indeed? I had an impression that that event took place in about
two years' time. When did you become twenty-five, may I ask?

PHILIP (quietly). It was on the Somme. We were attacking the next day
and my company was in support. We were in a so-called trench on the edge
of a wood--a damned rotten place to be, and we got hell. The company
commander sent back to ask if we could move. The C.O. said, "Certainly
not; hang on." We hung on; doing nothing, you know--just hanging on and
waiting for the next day. Of course, the Boche knew all about that.
He had it on us nicely.... (Sadly) Dear old Billy! he was one of the
best--our company commander, you know. They got him, poor devil! That
left _me_ in command of the company. I sent a runner back to ask if I
could move. Well, I'd had a bit of a scout on my own and found a sort of
trench five hundred yards to the right. Not what you'd call a trench, of
course, but compared to that wood--well, it was absolutely Hyde Park. I
described the position and asked if I could go there. My man never came
back. I waited an hour and sent another man. He went west too. Well, I
wasn't going to send a third. It was murder. So I had to decide. We'd
lost about half the company by this time, you see. Well, there were
three things I could do--hang on, move to this other trench, against
orders, or go back myself and explain the situation.... I moved.... And
then I went back to the C.O. and told him I'd moved.... And then I
went back to the company again.... (Quietly) That was when I became
twenty-five.... or thirty-five.... or forty-five.

JAMES (recovering himself with an effort). Ah yes, yes. (He coughs
awkwardly.) No doubt points like that frequently crop up in the
trenches. I am glad that you did well out there, and I'm sure your
Colonel would speak kindly of you; but when it comes to choosing
a career for you now that you have left the Army, my advice is not
altogether to be despised. Your father evidently thought so, or he would
not have entrusted you to my care.

PHILIP. My father didn't foresee