Part 32 (1/2)

”They ain't all bad,” said Alfred.

To Mrs. Yellam's amazement, her son merely laughed when she told him of Willum Saint's activities.

”'Tis life, Mother. Down river, if a trout's caught behind an old stump, another takes his pitch before night.”

Mrs. Yellam, however, noted with satisfaction that although Alfred was incapacitated from driving his motor-'bus, the business, since his arrival in Nether-Applewhite, had leaped ahead again with a renewed impetus. William Saint looked sour.

Fancy bought her modest trousseau, and, incidentally, put on several pounds in weight. The weather happened to be bitter, but she never felt cold when walking out with Alfred. He spoke with enthusiasm of his officers:

”They're fine gentlemen, Fancy. And those in the ranks are finest of all.” Then he told her a story about two men in a London regiment, both privates and chums. One was an East-ender; the father of the other owned a house in Park Lane. The c.o.c.kney asked his chum if he had ever visited Whitechapel. The other remembered that he had bought a bull-terrier from a fancier in the Mile End Road. He remembered, also, that he had been handsomely ”done” over the deal. After a pause, the c.o.c.kney said with a grin: ”I sold you that dawg, Algy. What a mug you was then!”

But Fancy remarked one amazing change in her lover. He never spoke of the future. His enjoyment of the present was unmistakable. This abstention from a topic which formerly had engrossed him became more and more significant. The girl realised what Alfred had been through, although, unlike most of the wounded men at the Court, he recited no ”horrors.” Gradually, too, she perceived a change in his face: he had ”fined down”; his eyes were more alert, with a curiously steadfast expression. She had never talked with him about religion. That was taken for granted, and might be summed up as a cut-and-dried sense of certain obligations such as church-going, honourable dealings with neighbours, loyalty to the Sovereign, and sobriety of conduct. He knew nothing about the empty pew.

”Mother took my going awful hard. Did she talk to you about it?”

Fancy told him what had taken place. Alfred held his tongue till she had finished.

”Thought she'd lost her soul, did she? Poor dear!”

”William Saint doing so well and cutting into your business worried her dreadful. I think it worries her still that you takes it so easy.”

Alfred meditated upon this. When he answered her, he conveyed to her mind an extraordinary sense of detachment, as if he, the strong man, so enterprising as a carrier, so alert for ”orders,” had become suddenly an onlooker at the game of life. Perhaps surroundings lent themselves to this impression. They had climbed slowly to the high downs, and were standing near a noted landmark, a small tower known as the Pepper Box. A sharp frost had silvered the downs. The air was very still. Upon each side of them stretched the uplands, melting into distant woods. No animals were to be seen, not a sheep, not a bird. They seemed to stand alone in a beautiful, deserted world.

”I suppose,” he said, ”that 'tis like this. Before the war, I might have felt different towards William Saint. And after the war, Fancy, if I'm here, I shall try hard to get back my own again. But to-day I'm thinking of peace. Fed-up with war I am. I want to live quiet with you and Mother. I talked a lot of foolishness once about making big money. You didn't cotton much to the notion. Maybe you feared it would take me away from you?”

”I did.”

”Well, maybe it would. Money drives some folks apart, and the want of it brings 'em together. And, out there, plotting and planning seems silly, because one may be--'next.'”

She clutched his arm. He smiled at her, continuing slowly:

”'Tain't so terrible a thought. Most of us fears pain more'n death. I see more frightened folks in Nether-Applewhite than in the dug outs.

Queer thoughts have come to me, my maid, since we two parted.”

”Tell them to me, Alfie.”

”'Tisn't easy unless a man has the gift of words. Times, especially at night, when an attack is expected I've lain still as a dormouse, thinking that 'twas unreal, a dream like, and that soon I should wake up and find myself somewhere else.”

”I often feel just that way.”

”Ah-h-h! Another queer notion is this: the best seem to go first, Fancy; some of the young officers. Why? I figure it out that death is a big prize to such. It does explain things a bit, don't it? They get their reward---quick! And then I set to figuring who is best. G.o.d Almighty knows. One feller in my platoon, before I got my stripes, was a right-down scallywag, a gaol-bird.”

”My!”

”'Twas his notion about death being a prize for the lucky ones. And he told me that he loved to think how bad he'd been, because he reckoned himself safe, sure to be one of the last to be called. Next week, he was blown to a pulp, except his face, and on that was the queerest smile I ever saw. I helped to carry in what was left.”

She clung closer to him. He said in his ordinary genial tones:

”I feel myself again in Blighty, dear. But I want no unpleasantness with William Saint or any one else. I think, night and day, of you, soon to be my dear wife.”

Love-making rolled on smoothly, as before the war.