“There—there isn’t anything to drink, ’cept water,” said Kenneth apologetically. “And there aren’t any cigars.”

The flood of invective with which the general greeted this piece of information left him weak and trembling. It had no visible effect on his son.

III.

THE general opened his eyes to a new day. He had not slept well. It seemed to him that the mattress on which he lay had been stuffed with potatoes. He gazed malevolently at the sun and thought over his unenviable plight. For some time his mind dwelt on a diet similar to last night’s supper. He shuddered. There had been a packet of soup, diluted in water and boiled over a smoky fire. Kenneth had done the cooking, while he had sat apart in frozen silence. Following that unspeakable soup, had come tinned salmon and bully-beef, washed down by water. The general was not the man to deny that water had its uses; but he refused to countenance it as a drink. Kenneth had offered to brew some cocoa with the aid of tinned milk, but the general had refused the offer curtly. He had no opinion of his son’s culinary skill. And he was a notorious bon-vivant, particular to the point of faddiness over his meals. To make matters worse, his cigar-case was empty. He had gone early to bed, ignoring all Kenneth’s attempts at conversation.

Presently Kenneth tapped on the door.

“I say, sir, I’ve got your shaving water here, and I’ve got every kettle and saucepan on for your bath. ’Twon’t be long. Can I come in?” He awaited no permission but entered, bearing a jug. This he set down on the rickety washstand. “Topping day, pater!” He dragged a tin bath from under the bed, and eyed it dubiously. “’Fraid it isn’t frightfully large, sir. I’ll bring the water up.”

He disappeared, and the general crawled out of bed. He was in the middle of shaving when Kenneth came back, bearing a long-handled saucepan, which he emptied into the bath.

“Have to pump up every drop of water,” he informed his father. “Awful fag!”

He went out again, returning almost at once with two large kettles. He then departed, leaving the general to his ablutions.

Breakfast consisted of porridge, slightly burnt, and bacon. The coffee was a little muddy; but, then, as Kenneth remarked, he wasn’t used to cooking. Not until the meal was over did the general vouchsafe a word, then he frowned majestically at his son and growled:

“Well? Have you come to your senses?”

Kenneth took a large bite out of a slice of bread and marmalade. He said nothing.

“You will take me back to town today?”

“Yes, sir. On one condition.”

The general’s lips tightened.

“No!”

“Then I’m awfully sorry, sir, but—”

The general stumped out into the “garden”. What he saw appalled him. A tall fence ran round the house, and inside it, some five feet wide, was a veritable maze of barbed-wire entanglement. The gate was stout and tall and on the top Kenneth had arranged more barbed wire and some broken glass.