Paths of Glory

Wainwright fell silent, but Carter minor came back, “If we were to go to war, sir, wouldn’t that rather scupper your chances of climbing Everest?”

Out of the mouths of babes…Ruth had put the same question to him over a breakfast, as well as the more important one of whether he would feel it was his duty to enlist or, as her father had crudely put it, would hide behind the shield of a schoolmaster’s gown.

“My personal belief—” began George just as the bell sounded. The class, in their eagerness not to miss morning break, didn’t seem all that interested in his personal beliefs.

As George walked across to the common room, he dismissed any thoughts of war in the hope of coming to a peaceful settlement with Andrew, whom he hadn’t seen since he’d returned from Venice. When he opened the common room door he spotted his chum sitting in his usual seat reading The Times. He didn’t look up. George poured himself a cup of tea and walked slowly across to join him, quite ready for a bout of mental fisticuffs.

“Good morning, George,” Andrew said, still not looking up.

“Good morning, Andrew,” George replied, slipping into the seat beside him.

“I hope you had decent hols,” Andrew added as he abandoned his newspaper.

“Pleasant enough,” replied George cautiously.

“Can’t say I did, old boy.”

George sat back and waited for the onslaught.

“I suppose you’ve heard about Ruth and me,” said Andrew.

“Of course I have,” said George.

“So what would you advise me to do about it, old boy?”

“Be magnanimous?” suggested George hopefully.

“Easy enough for you to say, old boy, but what about Ruth? I can’t see her being magnanimous.”

“Why not?” asked George.

“Would you be if I let you down at the last moment?”

George couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

“I really did mean to go to Venice, don’t you know,” continued Andrew, “but that was before we reached the semi-final of the Taunton Cup.”

“Congratulations,” said George, beginning to understand.

“And the lads prevailed on me, said I couldn’t let the side down, especially as they didn’t have another goalkeeper.”

“So you never went to Venice?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, old boy. And worse, we didn’t even win the cup, so I lost out both ways.”

“Bad luck, old chap,” said George, trying to hide a smirk.

“Do you think she’ll ever speak to me again?” asked Andrew.

“Well, you’ll be able to find out soon enough,” said George.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “How come, old chap?”

“We’ve just sent you an invitation to our wedding.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

WEDNESDAY, JULY 29TH, 1914