and there may or may not be a connection. Also there were his mother and father and one very bored man of about thirty in plain clothes.
“This is my son, Gerald,” cooed the old lady. “So splendid of him, you know, joining the Army. This dreadful war, you know. More tea, my dear. Poor things, out there—how I pity them. Quite terrible. But don’t you think it’s splendid, the way they’re all joining?”
The bored man in mufti looked more bored. “Why?” he asked resignedly.
“Why!” echoed a creation on his right indignantly. “How can you ask such a thing? Think of all the hardship and suffering they’ll have to endure. Isn’t that enough?” and she glanced tenderly at Gerald, while six other creations bit savagely at muffins because she’d got it out first.
“I don’t quite follow the argument,” answered the bored man patiently. “If a man has no ties, I don’t see that there is any credit in his joining the Army. It is his plain duty, and the gravest discredit attaches to him if he doesn’t. Don’t you agree with me?” and he turned to Gerald.
