at that, because he looked a jolly sight better than most of 'em when he
was stripped. But they'd given him so good an innings that the poor old
thing got above himself, and spun them a yarn about his hair having gone
grey from a recent shock. That dished him. They said they knew that sort
of hair; they'd been seeing a lot of it lately.

Anthony was depressed. He said bitter things about "red tape," and
declared that if that was the way things were going to be managed it was
a bad look-out for the country. John was furious. He said the man who
examined him was a blasted idiot who didn't know his own rotten
business. He'd actually had the beastly cheek to tell him they didn't
want him dropping down dead when he went into action, or fainting from
sheer excitement after they'd been to the trouble and expense of
training him. As if he'd be likely to do a damn silly thing like that.
He'd never been excited in his life. It was enough to _give_ him
heart-disease.

So John and Anthony followed the example of their women, and joined the
ambulance classes of the Red Cross. And presently they learned to their
disgust that, though they might possibly be accepted as volunteers for
Home Service, their disabilities would keep them forever from the Front.

At this point Anthony's attention was diverted to his business by a
sudden Government demand for timber. As he believed that the War would
be over in four months he did not, at first, realize the personal
significance of this. Still, there could be no doubt that its immediate
message for him was that business must be attended to. He had not
attended to it many days before he saw that his work for his country lay
there under his hand, in his offices and his stackyards and factories.
He sighed and sat down to it, and turned his back resolutely on the
glamour of the Front. The particular business in hand had great issues
and a fascination of its own.

And his son John sat down to it beside him, with a devoted body and a
brain alive to the great issues, but with an ungovernable and
abstracted soul.

And Nicky, a recruit in Kitchener's Army, went rapidly through the first
courses of his training; sleeping under canvas; marching in sun and wind
and rain; digging trenches, ankle-deep, waist high, breast high in
earth, till his clear skin grew clearer, and his young, hard body harder
every day.

And every day the empty spiritual space between him and Michael widened.

With the except