'Glad to know you,' he said; 'it's a degrading sort of business to go round the country persuading men to do their duty, but since there are so many shirkers in the country, some one's obliged to do it. We shall need all the strength of England, and of the Empire, before we've done, if this job is to be finished satisfactorily; the Germans will need a lot of licking.'
'Still, our chaps are doing very well,' I ventured.
'Oh, yes, they are all right. But naturally these new fellows haven't the staying power of the men in the old Army. They, poor chaps, were nearly all done for in the early days of the war. Still, the Territorials saved the situation.'
'You've seen service in the East?' I ventured.
'It was in Egypt that Captain Springfield knew my brother Maurice,' and George St. Mabyn glanced quickly at him as he spoke.
'The country lost a fine soldier in Maurice St. Mabyn,' said Springfield. 'If he had lived, he'd have been colonel by now; in fact, there is no knowing what he mightn't have become. He had a big mind, and was able to take a broad grasp of things. I'd like to have seen him at the General Headquarters in France. What Maurice St. Mabyn didn't know about soldiering wasn't worth knowing. Still, he's dead, poor chap.'
'Were you with him when he died?' I asked.
'Yes, I was,--that is I was in the show when he was killed. It was one of those affairs which make it hard to forgive Providence. You see, it was only a small skirmish; some mad mullah of a fellow became a paid agitator among the natives. He stirred up a good deal of religious feeling, and quite a number of poor fools joined him. By some means, too, he obtained arms for them. St. Mabyn was ordered to put down what the English press called "a native rebellion." He was able to do it easily for although he hadn't many men, he planned our attack so perfectly that we blew them into smithereens in a few hours.'
'Yes,' and then in a few words he described how Maurice St. Mabyn was killed.
'It's jolly hard when a friend dies like that,' I said awkwardly.
'Yes,' was Springfield's reply, 'it is. Of course it is one of the risks of the Army, and I am sure that Maurice would have gone into it, even if he had known what would take place. He was that sort. In a way, too, it was a glorious death. By his pluck and foresight he made the whole job easy, and put down what might have been a big rebellion. But that isn't quite how I look at it. I lost a pal, the best pal a man ever had. His death bowled me over, too, and I wasn't fit for anything for months. Poor old Maurice!'