Part 27 (1/2)

He was really concerned about Ger, but mingled with his concern was the feeling that the little boy had taken something of a liberty in developing that particular form of eye trouble. It seemed an unfilial reflection upon himself. Moreover, there was something in the General's letter plainly stating the bare facts that he did not exactly like. It was, he considered, ”rather brusque.” He started for the South, of France four days earlier than he had originally intended.

Ger was taken to the great oculist in London, who confirmed the ”Myjor's” diagnosis of his case, and he was forthwith put into large round spectacles. When he got them, his appearance brought the tears to his grandmother's eyes--tears she rigidly repressed, for Ger was so enormously proud of them. The first afternoon he wore them he went with his grandfather to see Grantly playing in a football match at the Shop, and among those watching on the field he espied his friend ”the Ram-Corps Angel.” Ger knew him at once, although he wore no white garment, not even khaki, just a plain tweed suit like his grandfather's.

While the General was deep in conversation with the ”Commy,” Ger slipped away and sought his friend.

”Hullo,” said the 'Myjor,' ”so you've got 'em on.”

”Yes, sir,” said Ger, saluting solemnly, ”and I'm very much obliged.

It's lovely to see things so nice and clear. Please may I ask you something?”

The Major stepped back out of the crowd and Ger slipped a small hand confidingly into his. Ger had not been to school yet, so there were excuses for him.

”Do you think,” he asked earnestly, ”that if I'm very industr'us and don't turn out quite so stupid as they expected, that by-and-by I might get into the Ram Corps?”

Major Murray looked down very kindly at the anxious upturned face with the large round spectacles.

”But I thought the Shop was the goal of your ambition?”

”So it was, sir, at first. Then I gave it up because it seemed so difficult, and I talked it over with Willets, and he said _he'd_ never had a great deal of book-learnin'--though he writes a beautiful hand, far better than father--and then I thought I'd be a gamekeeper.”

”And what did Willets think?”

”Well, he didn't seem to be very sure--and now I come to think of it, I'm not very fond of killing things . . . so if there was just a chance . . .”

”I'd go into the Ram Corps if I were you,” said Major Murray; ”by the time you're ready, gamekeepers--if there are any--will have to pa.s.s exams, like all the other poor beggars. You bet your boots on that.

Some Board of Forestry or other will start 'em, you see if they don't.”

”Oh, well, if there's to be exams, that settles it. I certainly shan't be one,” Ger said decidedly; ”I've been thinking it over a lot----”

”Oh, you have, have you?”

”An' it seems to me . . .”

”Yes, it seems to you?”

”That pr'aps you get to know people better if you mend all their accidents and things. I'm awfully fond of people, they're so intrusting, I'd rather know about them than anything.”

”What sort of people?”

”The men you know, and their wives and children; they're awfully nice, the ones I know--and if you see after them when they're ill and that, they're bound to be a bit fond of you, aren't they?”

Major Murray gave the cold little hand in his a squeeze. ”It seems to me,” he said, ”that you're just the sort of chap we want. You stick to it.”

”Is it _very_ hard to get in?”

”Well, it isn't exactly easy, but it's dogged as does it, and if you start now--why, you've plenty of time.”

”That's settled then,” said Ger, ”and when you're Medical Inspector-General or some big bra.s.s hat like the fat old gentleman who came to see Ganpy yesterday--you'll say a good word for me, won't you?”