GOD SAVE THE KING!

There was dead silence for a moment. Then cheer upon cheer convulsed the
house. The band struck up the National Anthem. The sequel to the tragedy
of the duck-pond was never known.

"Glorious! Glorious!" said Ferrers, as they staggered out into the cool
night air. "A war is what we want. It will wake us up from sleeping;
stir us into life; inflame our literature. There's a real chance now of
sweeping away the old outworn traditions. In a great fire they will all
be burnt. Then we can build afresh. I wish I could go and fight. Damn my
heart! To think of all the running it stood at Oxford; and then suddenly
to give way. My doctor always tells me to be careful. If I could go, by
God, I would have my shot at the bloody Germans; but still I'll do
something at Fernhurst. Stoics, you know; Army class English. How old
are you? Sixteen! We shall have you for two years yet. This war is going
to save England and everything! Glorious!"

The flaring lights of Leicester Square, the tawdry brilliance of
Piccadilly seemed to burst into one volcano of red splendour; a thousand
cannons spitting flame; a thousand eyes bright with love of England. The
swaying Tube swept Gordon home in a state of subconscious delirium to
the starlit calm of Hampstead.

Throughout the long summer holidays this feeling of rejoicing sustained
Gordon's heart. He saw an age rising out of these purging fires that
would rival the Elizabethan. He saw a second Marlowe and a second
Webster. His soul was aflame with hope. He had no doubt as to the
result. Even the long retreat from Mons, with its bitter list of
casualties, failed to terrorise him. Half the holidays he spent in
Wychtown, a little Somersetshire village, and his enthusiasm at one time
took the form of buying bundles of newspapers, which he distributed at
the cottages, so as to keep everyone in touch with the state of affairs.
At one time he thought of going round discussing the war with some of
the villagers; but he soon abandoned this project. He began with an aged
man who had fought at Majuba.

"Well, Mr Cavendish, and what do you think of the war this morning."

"Lor' bless you, things beant what they were in my young days. At
Majuba, now, we did things a bit different-like. But these 'ere Germans,
now, they be getting on right well. Be they for us?"

After this Gordon decided that the natural simplicity of the yokel was
proof against anything he might have to say. He pitied