In this bay Mr.Hazlewood was standing when Dick entered the room.
"I got your telegram, father, and here I am." Mr.Hazlewood turned back from the window with a smile upon his face.
"It is good of you, Richard.

I wanted you to-day." A very genuine affection existed between these two, dissimilar as they were in physique and mind.

Dick Hazlewood was at this time thirty-four years old, an officer of hard work and distinction, one of the younger men to whom the generals look to provide the brains in the next great war.

He had the religion of his type.

To keep physically fit for the hardest campaigning and mentally fit for the highest problems of modern strategy and to boast about neither the one qualification nor the other--these were the articles of his creed.