Those words of Maurice’s had thrown Eric into a fever of doubts and hesitations for the rest of the holidays. Almost every day he was on the point of going to Maurice and saying: “Come along. I’m ready.” Every night he lay awake for hours thinking about it, screwing himself up. At night, in the darkness, he was brave. The adventure seemed possible, almost easy. He saw it before him in the blackness, lived through it in all its stages. They would have been passed, almost certainly. They were tall for their age at fifteen, and at that time, with the German Push going forward, they couldn’t afford to be particular whom they took. Eric saw their life together in the training-camp, watched himself and Maurice drilling, being taught how to fight with bayonets, embarking on the troopship, cheering from French trains—Are we downhearted?—arriving in billets, going up along miles of communication trenches to the front line, waiting for the zero hour at dawn, in thin rain. He weighed, tasted every experience, every hardship—decided that, with Maurice, he could face them all.

It hadn’t been a mere day-dream, either. Again and again he’d all but asked the question. And of course Maurice would have come. The truth was, he’d been held back by pure fear—nothing else. Yes, I’m a coward all right, Eric thought.

But suppose he had known then of someone else—of his own age—who’d done the same thing. This boy, for instance. That example might just have turned the balance. And so, one night, they’d have run away, caught an early morning train into Manchester, leaving notes in their bedrooms. And, as a matter of fact, the War would have been practically over before they got out to the Front at all. And now they’d be war heroes, old soldiers, as good as grown-up men, respected by everybody. Or their names might be written with his father’s on the Cross. Eric preferred to think of that. No, not Maurice’s name. His own, only. He had saved Maurice’s life. They got him back to the base hospital, fatally wounded. He felt no pain. Maurice came and knelt by his bed. Oh, Eric, why did you do it? I don’t deserve it. But Eric smiled and said: I’m glad I did it, Maurice. You mustn’t cry like that. You must try to make things easier for my mother. Maurice was standing to-day beside Aunt Mary and Anne at the Cross. Maurice wore a black band round his arm. They talked of Eric. Maurice said: We shall never forget him. Never. What bloody trash, cried Eric to himself, pouncing suddenly upon the day-dream, kicking it savagely, smashing it to atoms.