Part 25 (1/2)

CHAPTER XVII

THE RAM-CORPS ANGEL

Grannie was writing letters. Grandfather had gone into London to the War Office, and it was only ten o'clock. Grannie was safe for an hour or two, for she was sending out notices about something, and that always took a long time.

Ger was rather at a loose end, but with the admirable spirit of the adventurous for making the best of things, he decided to go forth and see what he could see. No one was in the hall to question him as he went out, and he made straight for the common, where something exciting was always toward. He had forgotten to put on a coat, and the wind was cold, so he ran along with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His cap was old, his suit, ”a descended suit,” was old, and his face, though it was still so early in the day, was far from clean.

For once the common was almost deserted; but far away in front of the ”Shop” a thin line of khaki proclaimed the fact that some of the cadets were drilling.

Ger loved the Shop. He had been there on several occasions, accompanied by one or other of his grandparents, to see Grantly, and he knew that he must not go in alone, or his brother would, as he put it, ”get in a bate.” But there could be no objection to his standing at the gate and looking in at the parade ground. He knew the porter, a nice friendly chap who would not drive him away.

He turned off the common into the road that runs up past the Cadet Hospital. He knew the Cadet Hospital, for once he had gone there with Grannie to visit ”a kind of cousin” who had broken his collar-bone in the riding-school. As he pa.s.sed Ger looked in at the open door. A little crowd of rather poor-looking people stood in the entrance, among them a boy about his own age, with a great pad of cotton-wool fastened over his ear by a bandage.

A crowd of any sort had always an irresistible fascination for Ger. He skipped up the path and pushed in among the waiting people to the side of the boy with the tied-up head.

”Got a sore ear?” he murmured sympathetically.

”Wot's it to you wot I got?” was the discouraging reply.

”Well, I'm sorry, you know,” said Ger with obvious sincerity.

The boy looked hard at him and grunted.

”What are you here for?” Ger whispered.

”The Myjor, 'e got to syringe it,” the boy mumbled, but this time his tone was void of offence.

”Does it hurt?”

”'E don't 'urt, not much, 'e is careful; 'e's downright afraid of urtin' ya'. . . . An' if 'e does 'urt, it's becos 'e can't 'elp it, an' so,” here he wagged his head impressively, ”ya' just doesn't let on . . . see? Wots the matter wiv you?”

Here was a poser. Yet Ger was consumed by a desire to see this mysterious ”myjor” who syringed ears and didn't hurt people. He had fallen upon an adventure, and he was going to see it out.

”I don't know exactly,” he whispered mysteriously, ”but I've got to see him.”

”P'raps they've wrote about ya',” the bandaged boy suggested.

Ger thought this was unlikely, but let the suggestion pa.s.s unchallenged. He watched the various people vanish into a room on the right, saw them come out again, heard the invariable ”Next please”

which heralded the seclusion of a new patient, till everybody had gone and come back and gone forth into the street again save only the bandaged boy and himself.

”You nip in w'en I comes out,” the boy said encouragingly, ”it's a bit lyte already, but 'e'll see ya' if yer slippy.”

It seemed a long time to Ger as he waited. The little crowd of women and children had melted away. Men in blue cotton jackets pa.s.sed to and fro across the hall, ”Sister,” in a curious headdress and scarlet cape, looking like a picture by Carpaccio, came out of another room, went up the staircase and vanished from view. No one spoke to him or asked his business, and Ger stood in a dark corner holding his cap in his hands and waiting.

At last the boy came back with a clean bandage and a big new pad of cotton-wool over the syringed ear.

”'Urry up,” he whispered as he pa.s.sed. ”I told 'im as there was one more.”

Ger hurried.