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"No doctor who ever examined me for promotion has yet found that I wasn't flesh and blood," Lanstron remarked a little plaintively. "Then the doctor must have kept the truth from Partow," she told him with a faint return of the teasing spirit that he knew well. "He wants only men of steel, with nerves of copper wire run by an electric battery, on his staff, I'm sure."
He looked around to see an orderly from the nearest military wireless station. "I was told it was urgent, sir," said the orderly, in excuse for his intrusion, as he passed a telegram to Lanstron. Immediately Lanstron felt the touch of the paper his features seemed to take on a mask that concealed his thought as he read: "Take night express. Come direct from station to me. Partow."
"She offers herself for her country for the cause for which our soldiers will give their lives by the thousands. It is a time of sacrifice." Partow raised his arms. They were not formless as he brought them down with sledge-hammer force to the table. "Your tendon of Achilles? My boy, she is your sword-arm!"
Their spirit of corps had a dervish fatalism. They had begged to have a share in the war and Partow had consented. In the night after their long journey, while Westerling's ram was getting its death-blow, they had detrained and started for the front. But the Grays were going as fast as the Braves, and they had been unable to get into action. "Wait for us!
Partow waved his hand as if the affair were settled. "But," interjected Lanstron, "we have also to decide on the point of the main defence which she is to make Westerling think is weak." "Hm-m!" grumbled Partow. "That is not necessary to start with. We can give that to her later over the telephone, can't we, eh?" "She asked for it now."
He began outlining his own message which would go with Partow's to the premier, to the nation, to every regiment of the Browns, to the Grays, to the world. He set forth why the Browns, after tasting the courage of the Grays, should realize that they could not take their range. Partow had not taught him to put himself in other men's places in vain.
"I see that you didn't look into any of the pigeonholes," the chief of staff observed. Lanstron pressed his finger-tips on the manuscript significantly. "No. It is all there!" "The thing being to carry it out!" said Partow. "God with us!" he added devoutly.
Galland responded with gentle resignation. Garden and veranda were as peaceful as on any other Sunday morning, but it was a different kind of peace a peace mocked by sounds beyond its boundaries which were to her like the rattling of the steel scales of a demon licking its jaws with its red tongue in voracious anticipation of a gorge and stretching out great steel claws in readiness to sink them into the flesh of its victims when Partow and Westerling gave the word.
"After luncheon I remember Partow saying, 'We are going to have a look at the crops, and they went for a walk out to the knoll where the fighting began." "Yes! When was this?" Westerling asked keenly. "Only about six weeks ago," answered Marta. "That's it! That's splendid!
"The field-marshal was Partow, their chief of staff?" Westerling asked. "Yes," said Mrs. Galland. "I remember when he was a young infantry officer before the last war, before he had won the iron cross and become so great. He was not of an army family a doctor's son, but very clever and skilful." "Getting a little old for his work!" remarked Westerling.
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