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What he had done was terrific, and yet he had done it as though it were naught ... The mood passed as suddenly as it had come, and left him matter-of-fact, grim, as it were swimming strongly on and with the mighty current which had caught him. He went into the bedroom on the current. Lois was awake. "I've seen Colonel Rannion." "You haven't, George!" "Yes, I have. I've just come back." "Well?"
In the automobile George received a few useful hints, but owing to the speed of the vehicle the time was far too short for any extensive instruction. The car drew up. For an instant Colonel Rannion became freely cordial. "He must rather have cottoned to me, or he wouldn't have done what he has," thought George, proud to be seen in converse with a staff-officer, waving a hand in adieu.
"You don't mean joining the Army?" "Yes." "What rot! There's nothing in it. Fellows are doing it everywhere." She smiled superiorly, and then inquired: "How do you join? What are you going to do? Shall you ask Everard?" "Well " he hesitated. He had no desire to consult Lucas. "Why don't you see Colonel Rannion?" she Suggested. "Jove! That's a scheme. Never thought of him!"
Without saying anything else Colonel Rannion took up the telephone. In less than half a minute George heard him saying: "Colonel Hullocher.... Ask him to be good enough to come to the telephone at once.... That you, Hullocher?" George actually trembled. He no longer felt that heavy weight on his stomach, but he felt 'all gone. He saw himself lying wounded near a huge gun on a battlefield.
Colonel Rannion had greatly liked his sister's house, had accordingly shown much esteem for George, and had even spoken of ordering a house for himself. Just as breakfast was being served, George had the idea of ringing up the Hampstead people for the Colonel's address, which he obtained at once. The Colonel was staying at the Berkeley Hotel.
Colonel Rannion was continuing into the telephone: "I can recommend a friend of mine to you for a commission. George Cannon C-a-n-n-o-n the architect. I don't know whether you know of him.... Oh! About thirty.... No, but I think he'd suit you.... Who recommends him? I do.... Like to see him, I suppose, first?... No, no necessity to see him.
You'll get a telegram when you're needed. Now I must go. Which way are you going?" "I'm going home for my breakfast," said George, writing down his two addresses. Colonel Rannion said: "I'm off to Wimbledon. I can drop you in Fulham Road if you like."
The Colonel said: "He's got a devilish odd way of saluting. I must go now." And jumped up and went cyclonically as far as the door. At the door he paused and looked George full in the face, glaring. "You came to me with a special recommendation?" he demanded loudly. "Colonel Rannion kindly recommended me, sir." "General Rannion, sir. Haven't you seen this morning's Times?
Colonel Rannion was brother of the wife of the man for whom George had built the house at Hampstead. George had met him several times at the dinners and other reunions to which a sympathetic architect is often invited in the dwelling that he has created.
And then, not many yards ahead, the voice of an N.C.O.: "D sub-section. Eyes right." Heads turned; whips were raised and flung outwards; horses swerved slightly. "Get ready," muttered Resmith to George. The figure of the C.R.A., Brigadier-General Rannion, motionless on a charger, came into view. George's heart was beating high. Resmith and he saluted. The General gazed hard at him and never moved.
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