Part 6 (2/2)
”That's the sort that gets the V.C. without thinking about it,” said Major Hunt, laughing.
”I was very busy in the Canteen one morning--it was a cold, wet day, and the men rushed us for hot drinks whenever they had a moment.
Presently a warrior dashed up to the counter, banged down his penny and said 'Coffee!' in a voice of thunder. I looked up and caught his eye as I was turning to run for the coffee--and it was my lance-corporal!”
”What did you do?”
”We just gibbered at each other across the counter for a moment, I believe--and I never saw a face so horror-stricken! Then he turned and fled, leaving his penny behind him. Poor boy--I gave it to Susan to return to him.”
”Didn't you ever make friends with any of them, Mrs. Hunt?” Norah asked.
”Oh yes! when we had time, or when they had. But often one was on the rush for every minute of our four-hour s.h.i.+fts.”
”Jolly good of you,” said Jim.
”Good gracious, no! It was a very poor sort of war-work, but busy mothers with only one maid couldn't manage more. And I loved it, especially in Cork: the Irish boys were dears, and so keen. I had a great respect for those boys. The lads who enlisted in England had all their chums doing the same thing, and everybody patted them on the back and said how n.o.ble they were, and gave them parties and speeches and presents. But the Irish boys enlisted, very often, dead against the wishes of their own people, and against their priest--and you've got to live in Ireland to know what _that_ means.”
”The wonder to me was, always, the number of Irishmen who did enlist,”
said Major Hunt. ”And aren't they fighters!”
”They must be great,” Jim said. ”You should hear our fellows talk about the Dublins and the Munsters in Gallipoli.” His face clouded: it was a grievous matter to Jim that he had not been with those other Australian boys who had already made the name of Anzac ring through the world.
”Yes, you must be very proud of your country,” Mrs. Hunt said, with her charming smile. ”I tell my husband that we must emigrate there after the war. It must be a great place in which to bring up children, judging by all the Australians one sees.”
”Possibly--but a man with a damaged hand isn't wanted there,” Major Hunt said curtly.
”Oh, you'll be all right long before we want to go out,” was his wife's cheerful response. But there was a shadow in her eyes.
Wally did not notice any shadow. He had hero-wors.h.i.+pped Major Hunt in his first days of soldiering, when that much-enduring officer, a Mons veteran with the D.S.O. to his credit, had been chiefly responsible for the training of newly-joined subalterns: and Major Hunt, in his turn, had liked the two Australian boys, who, whatever their faults of carelessness or ignorance, were never anything but keen. Now, in his delight at meeting his senior officer again, Wally chattered away like a magpie, asking questions, telling Irish fis.h.i.+ng-stories, and other stories of adventures in Ireland, hazarding wild opinions about the war, and generally manifesting a cheerful disregard of the fact that the tired man opposite him was not a subaltern as irresponsible as himself. Somehow, the weariness died out of Major Hunt's eyes. He began to joke in his turn, and to tell queer yarns of the trenches: and presently, indeed, the whole party seemed to be infected by the same spirit, so that the old walls of the _Ches.h.i.+re Cheese_ echoed laughter that must have been exceedingly discouraging to the ghost of Dr. Johnson, if, as is said, that unamiable maker of dictionaries haunts his ancient tavern.
”Well, you've made us awfully cheerful,” said Major Hunt, when dinner was over, and they were dawdling over coffee. ”Stella and I were feeling rather down on our luck, I believe, when you appeared, and now we've forgotten all about it. Do you always behave like this, Miss Linton?”
”No, I have to be very sedate, or I'd never keep my big family in order,” said Norah, laughing. ”You've no idea what a responsibility they are.”
”Haven't I?” said he. ”You forget I have a houseful of my own.”
”Tell me about them,” Norah asked. ”Do you keep them in order?”
”We say we do, for the sake of discipline, but I'm not too sure about it,” said Mrs. Hunt. ”As a matter of fact, I am very strict, but Douglas undoes all my good work. Is it really true that he is strict in the regiment, Mr. Jim?”
Jim and Wally shuddered.
”I'd find it easier to tell you if he wasn't here,” Jim said. ”There are awful memories, aren't there, Wal?”
”Rather!” said Wally feelingly. ”Do you remember the day I didn't salute on parade?”
”I believe your mangled remains were carried off the barrack-square,”
said Jim, with a twinkle. ”I expect I should have been one of the fatigue-part, only that was the day I was improperly dressed!”
”What, you didn't come on parade in a bath-towel, did you?” his father asked.
”No, but I had a shoulder-strap undone--it's nearly as bad, isn't it, sir?” Jim grinned at Major Hunt.
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