Ferrier worked as long as he could, and then joined the others at tea--that most pleasant of all meetings on the sombre North Sea.

The young man was glum in face, and he could not shake off his abstraction.

At last he burst out, in answer to Fullerton, "I feel like a criminal.

I haven't seen fifty per cent of the men who came, and I've sent back at least half a dozen who have no more right to be working than they have to be in penal servitude.

It is ghastly, and yet what can we do?
I have no mawkish sentiment, but I could have cried over one fellow.