never remarked anything except its surface,--its churches, and
its sunsets. Again, both assumed that they were democrats, but neither
knew the meaning of the word, nor felt that the working man could be
really trusted; and both revered Church and, King: Both disliked
conscription, but considered it necessary. Both favoured Home Rule for
Ireland, but neither thought it possible to grant it. Both wished for
the war to end, but were for prosecuting it to Victory, and neither knew
what they meant by that word. So much for the large. On the narrower
issues, such as strategy, and the personality of their country's leaders,
they were opposed. Edward was a Westerner, Robert an Easterner, as was
natural in one who had lived twenty-five years in Ceylon. Edward
favoured the fallen government, Robert the risen. Neither had any
particular reasons for their partisanship except what he had read in the
journals. After all--what other reasons could they have had? Edward
disliked the Harmsworth Press; Robert thought it was doing good. Robert
was explosive, and rather vague; Edward dreamy, and a little didactic.
Robert thought poor Ted looking like a ghost; Edward thought poor Bob
looking like the setting sun. Their faces were indeed as curiously
contrasted as their views and voices; the pale-dark, hollowed, narrow
face of Edward, with its short, pointed beard, and the red-skinned,
broad, full, whiskered face of Robert. They parted for the night with an
affectionate hand-clasp. So began a queer partnership which consisted, as
the days went on, of half an hour's companionship at breakfast, each
reading the paper; and of dinner together perhaps three times a week.
Each thought his brother very odd, but continued to hold the highest
opinion of him. And, behind it all, the deep tribal sense that they stood
together in trouble, grew. But of that trouble they never spoke, though
not seldom Robert would lower his journal, and above the glasses perched
on his well-shaped nose, contemplate his brother, and a little frown of
sympathy would ridge his forehead between his bushy eyebrows. And once
in a way he would catch Edward's eyes coming off duty from his journal,
to look, not at his brother, but at--the skeleton; when that happened,
Robert would adjust his glasses hastily, damn the newspaper type, and
apologise to Edward for swearing. And he would think: 'Poor Ted! He
ought to drink port, and--and enjoy himself, and forget it. What