There had
been humiliating moments, hard moments, but always he had been
sustained by a sense of the rightness of the thing that he was doing
and of its necessity.
Then, out of the darkness, came a shivering old voice, "Derry, are you
there?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Come down--and help me--"
The General, alone in the darkness, had suffered a reaction. He felt
chilled and depressed. He wanted warmth and light.
Mounting steadily with his son's arm to sustain him, he argued
garrulously for a sojourn at the nearest hostelry, or for a stop at
Chevy Chase. He would, he promised, go to bed at the Club, and thus be
rid of Bronson. Bronson didn't know his place, he would have to be
taught--
Arriving at the top, he was led to Derry's car. He insisted on an
understanding. If he got in, they were to stop at the Club.
"No," Derry said, "we won't stop. We are going home."
Derry had never commanded a brigade. But he had in him the blood of
one who had. He possessed also strength and determination backed at
the moment by righteous indignation. He lifted his father bodily, put
him in the car, took his seat beside him, shut the door, and drove off.
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