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Partow turned the knob of the combination back and forth and with the smooth swing of a great weight on noiseless hinges the door opened and they entered a vault having a single chair and a small table in the centre and lined by sections of numbered pigeonholes, each with a combination lock At the base of one section was a small safe.
"Lanny! Lanny!" The dignity of a staff council could not restrain Marta. Her emotion must have action. She sprang to his side and seized his hand, her exultation mixed with penitence over the why she had wronged him and Partow. Their self-contained purpose had been the same as hers and they had worked with a soldier's fortitude, while she had worked with whims and impulses.
"You must I promised you must let him have the uniform again!" she begged. "You must let him keep his automatic. To take it away would be like separating mother and child; like separating Minna from Clarissa Eileen." "Better than an automatic a battery of guns!" replied Lanstron. "This is where I will use any influence I have with Partow for all it is worth.
Partow alone knew all, and Lanstron was trying to grasp all and praying that Partow's old body should still feed his mind with energy. Lanstron was thinner and paler, a new and glittering intensity in his eyes. A messenger had just brought in two despatches from the telegraph room.
Fellowship was in the victory, the fellowship which, developed under Partow, who believed that Napoleons and Colossi and gods in the car and all such gentlemen belonged to an archaic farce-comedy, had grown under Lanstron.
Lives are assets of various kinds in an army. It is my business to determine the relative value of those of my subordinates. You are not to sacrifice yours." "I haven't yet, sir. I have it with me this morning," Lanstron replied, "and I have some news about our thousandth chance." "Hm-m! What is it?" asked Partow.
"Give me your hand no, not that one, not the one you shake hands with the one wounded in action!" Partow enclosed the stiffened fingers in his own with something of the caress which an old bear that is in very good humor might give to a promising cub. "I have planned, planned, planned for this time," he said.
"That sums up to pretty near a million!" "My God! Think of it a million!" "We're whittling them down!" "It doesn't make any difference whether Partow or Lanstron is chief of staff!" "They're paying!" "Paying for our fellows that they've killed! Paying for being in the wrong!" "Let's have the song again! Come on!" "Yes, the song! The song!" "No; hold on!" cried Tom. "Not because men are killed!"
As you know, a chief of staff must be at the wire head where all information centres, free of interruption or confusion or any possibility of broken lines of communication with his corps and divisions." "Then Partow will not be in any danger?" "For the same reasons, no." "How comfortable! In perfect safety themselves, they will order other men to death!"
At the time he and Partow were seated facing each other across a map on the table of the room where they worked together. No persuasion of the young vice-chief, no edict of the doctors, could make the old chief take exercise or shorten his hours. "I know. I know myself!" he said. "I know my duty. And you are learning, my boy, learning!"
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