Part 8 (1/2)

And then the adjutant recalled in a still small voice how he first realised the orderly-room sergeant's baby was going to be sick in his arms at the regiment's Christmas-tree festivities, and, instead of throwing it on the floor, he had clung to it for that fatal second of indecision. As he admitted, it was certainly not one of the things he had thought out beforehand.

He's gone, too, has old Bellairs the adjutant. I wonder how many fellows I'll know when I get back to them next week? But I'm wandering.

”Winkle, wake up!” It was Pat speaking. ”Jerry is being horribly serious, and I'm not at all certain it will be safe to marry him; he'll be experimenting on me.”

”What's he been saying?” I murmured sleepily.

”He's been thinking what he'd do,” laughed Jack, ”if the stout female personage in yonder small canoe overbalanced and fell in. There'll be no fatal second then, Jerry, my boy. It'll be a minute even if I have to hold you. You'd never be able to look your friends in the face again if you didn't let her drown.”

”a.s.s!” grunted Jerry. ”No, Winkle, I was just thinking, amongst other things, of what might very easily happen to any of us three here, and what did happen to old Grantley in South Africa.” Grantley was one of our majors. ”He told me all about it one day in one of his expansive moods. It was during a bit of a sc.r.a.p just before Paardeburg, and he had some crowd of irregular Johnnies. He was told off to take a position, and apparently it was a fairly warm proposition. However, it was perfectly feasible if only the men stuck it. Well, they didn't, but they would have except for his momentary indecision. He told me that there came a moment in the advance when one man wavered. He knew it and felt it all through him. He saw the man--he almost saw the deadly contagion spreading from that one man to the others--and he hesitated and was lost. When he sprang forward and tried to hold 'em, he failed. The fear was on them, and they broke. He told me he regarded himself as every bit as much to blame as the man who first gave out.”

”But what could he have done, Jerry?” asked Pat.

”Shot him, dear--shot him on the spot without a second's thought--killed the origin of the fear before it had time to spread. I venture to say that there are not many fellows in the Service who would do it--without thinking: and you can't think--you dare not, even if there was time. It goes against the grain, especially if you know the man well, and it's only by continually rehearsing the scene in your mind that you'd be able to do it.”

We were all listening to him now, for this was a new development I'd never heard before.

”Just imagine the far-reaching results one coward--no, not coward, possibly--but one man who has reached the breaking-point, may have.

Think of it, Winkle. A long line stretched out, attacking. One man in the centre wavers, stops. Spreading outwards, the thing rushes like lightning, because, after all, fear is only an emotion, like joy and sorrow, and one knows how quickly they will communicate themselves to other people. Also, in such a moment as an attack, men are particularly susceptible to emotions. All that is primitive is uppermost, and their reasoning powers are more or less in abeyance.”

”But the awful thing, Jerry,” said Pat quietly, ”is that you would never know whether it had been necessary or not. It might not have spread; he might have answered to your voice--oh! a thousand things might have happened.”

”It's not worth the risk, dear. One man's life is not worth the risk.

It's a risk you just dare not take. It may mean everything--it may mean failure--it may mean disgrace.” He paused and looked steadily across the s.h.i.+fting scene of gaiety and colour, while a long bamboo pole with a little bag on the end, wielded by some pa.s.sing vocalist, was thrust towards him unheeded. Then with a short laugh he pulled himself together, and lit a cigarette. ”But enough of dull care. Let us away, and gaze upon beautiful women and brave men. What's that little tune they're playing?”

”That's that waltz--what the deuce is the name, Pat?” asked Jack, untying the punt.

”'Destiny,'” answered Pat briefly, and we pa.s.sed out into the stream.

A month afterwards we three were again at Henley, not in flannels in a punt on the river, but in khaki, with a motor waiting at the door of the Delawnays' house to take us back to Aldershot. I do not propose to dwell over the scene, but in the setting down of the story it cannot be left out. Europe was at war; the long-expected by those scoffed-at alarmists had actually come. England and Germany were at each other's throats.

Inside the house Jack was with his mother. Personally, I was standing in the garden with the grey-haired father; and Jerry was--well, where else could he have been?

As is the way with men, we discussed the roses, and the rascality of the Germans, and everything except what was in our hearts. And in one of the pauses in our spasmodic conversation we heard her voice, just over the hedge:

”G.o.d guard and keep you, my man, and bring you back to me safe!” And the voice was steady, though one could feel those dear eyes dim with tears.

And then Jerry's, dear old Jerry's voice--a little bit gruff it was, and a little bit shaky: ”My love! My darling!”

But the old man was going towards the house, blowing his nose; and I--don't hold with love and that sort of thing at all. True, I blundered into a flower-bed, which I didn't see clearly, as I went towards the car, for there are things which one may not hear and remain unmoved.

Perhaps, if things had been different, and Jerry--dear old Jerry--hadn't---- But there, I'm wandering again.

At last we were in the car and ready to start.

”Take care of him, Jerry; he and Pat are all we've got.” It was Mrs.

Delawnay speaking, standing there with the setting sun on her sweet face and her husband's arm about her.