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It's only
that - well, the struggle's over, if you know what I mean."
"I'll talk to you about that to-morrow. Get to bed now. It's one
o'clock."
He moved to the doorway. Graham, carafe in hand, stood staring
ahead of him. He had the courage of the last whiskey-and-soda, and
a sort of desperate contrition.
"Father."
"Yes, Graham."
"I wish you'd let me go to France and fly."
Something like a cold hand seemed to close round Clayton's heart.
"Fly! Why?"
"Because I'm not doing any good here. And - because I'd like to
see if I have any good stuff in me. All the fellows are going," he
added, rather weakly.
"That's not a particularly worthy reason, is it?"
"It's about as worthy as making money out of shells, when we haven't
any reason for selling them to the Allies more than the Germans,
except that we can't ship to the Germans."
He looked rather frightened then. But Clayton was not angry. He
saw Natalie's fine hand there, and the boy's impressionable nature.


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