Sir Francis remarked: 

“Your hearing’s much better, Bob.”

“It is,” answered Bob.  “The fact is, I got hold of a marvellous feller at Birmingham.”  He laughed sardonically.  “I hope to go down to history as the first judge that ever voluntarily retired because of deafness.  And now, thanks to this feller at Birmingham, I can hear better than seventy-five per cent of the Bench.  The Lord Chancellor gave me a hint I might care to return, and so save a pension to the nation.  I told him I’d begin to think about that when he’d persuaded the Board of Works to ventilate my old Court.”  He laughed again.  “And now I see the Press Bureau is enunciating the principle that it won’t permit criticism that might in any way weaken the confidence of the people in the administration of affairs.”

Bob opened his mouth wide and kept it open.

Sir Francis, with no diminution of the mild and bland benevolence of his detachment, said: 

“The voice is the Press Bureau’s voice, but the hands are the hands of the War Office.  Can we reasonably hope to win, or not to lose, with such a mentality at the head?  I cannot admit that the War Office has changed in the slightest degree in a hundred years.  From time to time a brainy civilian walks in, like Cardwell or Haldane, and saves it from becoming patently ridiculous.  But it never really alters.  When I was War Secretary in a transient government it was precisely the same as it had been in the reign of the Duke of Cambridge, and to-day it is still precisely the same.  I am told that Haldane succeeded in teaching our generals the value of Staff work as distinguished from dashing cavalry charges.  I don’t appreciate that.  The Staffs are still wide open to men with social influence and still closed to men without social influence.  My grandson is full of great modern notions about tactics.  He may have talent for all I know.  He got a Staff appointment—­because he came to me and I spoke ten words to an old friend of mine with oak leaves in the club next door but one.  No questions asked.  I mean no serious questions.  It was done to oblige me—­the very existence of the Empire being at stake, according to all accounts.  So that I venture to doubt whether we’re going to hold Ypres, or anything else.”

Bob, unimpressed by the speech, burst out: 

“You’ve got the perspective wrong.  Obviously the centre of gravity is no longer in the West—­it’s in the East.  In the West, roughly, equilibrium has been established.  Hence Poland is the decisive field, and the measure of the Russian success or failure is the measure of the Allied success or failure.”

Sir Francis inquired with gentle joy: 

“Then we’re all right?  The Russians have admittedly recovered from Tannenberg.  If there is any truth in a map they are doing excellently.  They’re more brilliant than Potsdam, and they can put two men into the field to the Germans’ one—­two and a half in fact.”