And we were still at lunch when the hall porter came in from
outside.
"Leftenant Lauder!" he called, over and over. John beckoned to him,
and he handed my laddie a cablegram.
Just two words there were, that had come singing along the wires half
way around the world.
"Mobilize. Return."
John's eyes were bright. They were shining. He was looking at us, but
he was not seeing us. Those eyes of his were seeing distant things.
My heart way sore within me, but I was proud and happy that it was
such a son I had to give my country.
"What do you think, Dad?" he asked me, when I had read the order.
I think I was gruff because I dared not let him see how I felt. His
mother was very pale.
"This is no time for thinking, son," I said. "It is the time for
action. You know your duty."
He rose from the table, quickly.
"I'm off!" he said.
"Where?" I asked him.
"To the ticket office to see about changing my berth. There's a
steamer this week--maybe I can still find room aboard her."
He was not long gone. He and his chum went down together and come
back smiling triumphantly.
"It's all right, Dad," he told me. "I go to Adelaide by train and get
the steamer there. I'll have time to see you and mother off--your
steamer goes two hours before my train."
We were going to New Zealand. And my boy was was going home to fight
for his country. They would call me too old, I knew--I was forty-four
the day Britain declared war.
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