Part 20 (1/2)

”Good Lord, Derek--you ought to have seen their first drill. In one corner of the lawn that poor devil of a sergeant with his face a s.h.i.+ny purple alternately sobbed and bellowed like a bull--while twenty-seven W.W.W.'s tied themselves into a knot like a Rugby football scrum, and told one another how they'd done it. It was the most heart-rending sight I've ever seen.”

”Dear old Dad!” The girl blew a cloud of smoke. ”You told it better last time.”

”Don't interrupt, Monica. The final tableau----”

”Which one are you going to tell him, dear? The one where James Henry bit the Vicar's wife in the leg, or the one where the sergeant with a choking cry of 'Double, d.a.m.n you!' fell fainting into the rhododendron bush?”

”I think the second is the better,” remarked the soldier pensively.

”Dogs always bite the Vicar's wife's leg. Not a hobby I should personally take up, but----”

They all laughed. ”Now run indoors, old 'un, and tell John to get you a mixed Vermouth--I want to talk to Derek.” The girl gently pushed her father towards the open window.

It was at that particular moment in James Henry's career that, having snapped at a wasp and partially killed it, he inadvertently sat on the carcase by mistake. As he explained to Harriet Emily afterwards, it wasn't so much the discomfort of the proceeding which annoyed him, as the unfeeling laughter of the spectators. And it was only when she'd bitten him in the other ear that he remembered he had disowned her that very afternoon.

But elsewhere, though he was quite unaware of the fact, momentous decisions as to his future were being taken. The Earl had gone in to get his mixed Vermouth, and outside his daughter and the soldier-man sat and talked. It was fragmentary, disjointed--the talk of old friends with much in common. Only in the man's voice there was that suppressed note which indicates things more than any mere words. Monica heard it and sighed--she'd heard it so often before in his voice. James Henry had heard it too during a previous talk--one which he had graced with his presence--and had gone to the extent of discussing it with a friend. On this occasion he had been gently dozing on the man's knee, when suddenly he had been rudely awakened. In his dreams he had heard her say, ”Dear old Derek--I'm afraid it's No. You see, I'm not sure;” which didn't seem much to make a disturbance about.

”Would you believe it,” he remarked later, ”but as she spoke the soldier-man's grip tightened on my neck till I was almost choked.”

”What did you do?” asked his Friend, a disreputable ”long-dog.” ”Did you bite him?”

”I did not.” James Henry sniffed. ”It was not a biting moment. Tact was required. I just gave a little cough, and instantly he took his hand away. 'Old man,' he whispered to me--she'd left us--'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--I wasn't thinking.' So I licked his hand to show him I understood.”

”I know what you mean. I'm generally there when my bloke comes out of prison, and he always kicks me. But it's meant kindly.”

”As a matter of fact that is not what I mean--though I daresay your experiences on such matters are profound.” James was becoming blue-blooded. ”The person who owns you, and who is in the habit of going to--er--prison, no doubt shows his affection for you in that way. And very suitable too. But the affair to which I alluded is quite different.

The soldier-man is almost as much in my care as the girl. And so I know his feelings. At the time, he was suffering though why I don't understand; and therefore it was up to me to suffer with him. It helped him.”

”H'm,” the lurcher grunted. ”Daresay you're right. What about a trip to the gorse? I haven't seen a rabbit for some time.”

And if Henry had not sat on the wasp, his neck might again have been squeezed that evening. As it was, the danger period was over by the time he reappeared and jumped into the girl's lap. Not only had the sixth proposal been gently turned down--but James's plans for the near future had been settled for him in a most arbitrary manner.

”Well, old man, how's the tail?” laughed the soldier. James Henry yawned--the subject seemed a trifle personal even amongst old friends.

”Have you heard you're coming with me to France?”

”And you must bring him to me as soon as I get over,” cried the girl.

”At once, dear lady. I'll ask for special leave, and if necessary an armistice.”

”Won't you bark at the Huns, my cherub?” She laughed and got up. ”Go to your uncle--I'm going to dress.”

What happened then was almost more than even the most long-suffering terrier could stand. He was unceremoniously bundled into his uncle's arms by his mistress, and at the same moment she bent down. A strange noise was heard such as he had frequently noted, coming from the top of his own head, when his mistress was in an affectionate mood--a peculiar form of exercise he deduced, which apparently amused some people. But the effect on the soldier was electrical. He sprang out of his chair with a shout--”Monica--you little devil--come back,” and James Henry fell winded to the floor. But a flutter of white disappearing indoors was the only answer....

”She's not sure, James, my son--she's not sure.” The man pulled out his cigarette case and contemplated him thoughtfully. ”And how the deuce are we to make her sure? I want it, and her father wants it, and so does she if she only knew it. They're the devil, James Henry--they're the devil.”

But his hearer did not want philosophy; he wanted his tummy rubbed. He lay with one eye closed, his four paws turned up limply towards the sky, and sighed gently. Never before had the suggestion failed; enthusiastic admirers had always taken the hint gladly, and he had graciously allowed them the pleasure. But this time--horror upon horror--not only was there no result, but in a dreamy, contemplative manner the soldier actually deposited his used and still warm match carefully on the spot where James Henry's wind had been. Naturally there was only one possible course open to him. He rose quietly, and left. It was only when he was thinking the matter over later that it struck him that his exit would have been more dignified if he hadn't sat down halfway across the lawn to scratch his right ear. It was more than likely that a completely false construction would be put on that simple action by anyone who didn't know he'd had words with Harriet Emily.

Thus James Henry--gentleman, at his country seat in England. I have gone out of my way to describe what may be taken as an average day in his life, in order to show him as he was before he went to France to be banished from the country--cas.h.i.+ered in disgrace a few weeks after his arrival. Which only goes to prove the change that war causes in even the most polished and courtly.