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them are never coming back again, worse luck!" "Still," said Wagstaffe, "what they did was worth doing, and what they died for was worth while. I think their one regret to-day would be that they did not live to see their own fellows taking the offensive--the line going forward on the Somme; the old tanks waddling over the Boche trenches; and the Boche prisoners throwing up their hands and yowling 'Kamerad'! And the Kut unpleasantness cleaned up, and all the kinks in the old Salient straightened out! And Wytchaete and Messines! You remember how the two ridges used to look down into our lines at Wipers and Plugstreet? And now we're on top of both of them! Some of our friends out there--the friends who are not coming back--would have liked to know about that, Bobby. I wish they could, somehow." "Perhaps they do," said Bobby simply. It was close on midnight. Our "two old soldiers, broken in the wars," levered themselves stiffly to their feet, and prepared to depart. "Heigho!" said Wagstaffe. "It is time for two old wrecks like us to be in bed. That's what we are, Bobby--wrecks, dodderers, has-beens! But we have had the luck to last longer than most. We have dodged the missiles of the Boche to an extent which justifies us in claiming that we have followed the progress of their war with a rather more than average degree of continuity. We were the last of the old crowd, too. Kemp has got his Brigade, young Cockerell has gone to be a Staff Captain, and--you and I are here. Some of the others dropped out far too soon. Young Lochgair, old Blaikie--" "Waddell, too," said Bobby. "We joined the same day." "And Angus M'Lachlan. I think he would have made the finest soldier of the lot of us," added Wagstaffe. "You remember his remark to me, that we only had the bye to play now? He was a true prophet: we are dormy, anyhow. (Only cold feet at Home can let us down now.) And he only saw three months' service! Still, he made a great exit from this world, Bobby, and that is the only thing that matters in these days. Ha! H'm! As our new Allies would say, I am beginning to 'pull heart stuff' on you. Let us go to bed. Sleeping here?" "Yes, till to-morrow. Then off on leave." "How much have you got?" "A month. I say?" "Yes?" "Are you doing anything on the nineteenth?" Wagstaffe regarded his young friend suspiciously. "Is this a catch of some kind?" he enquired. "Oh, no. Will you be my--" Bobby turned excessiv
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