Part 7 (1/2)

”Come now, Tom,” said Penrose, who almost repented of having spoken so sharply, ”it is not too late to turn over a new leaf, and you have the makings of a fine fellow in you.”

”I'd rather be kicked out of the Army as a straight chap than to be a blooming white-livered hypocrite.”

”And do you think I'm a white-livered hypocrite?”

”A sort of plaster saint, anyhow,” retorted Tom.

”Anything but that, Tom,” replied Penrose; ”all the same I've taken a liking to you.”

”You have a nice way of showing it,” replied Tom.

His anger was all gone now, for he instinctively felt that Penrose meant to be friendly.

”Come with me to the Y.M.C.A. hall to-night,” urged Penrose.

”Ay, and be preached to,” said Tom, yielding rapidly to the other.

”I promise you there will be no preaching,” said Penrose, with a laugh, ”unless you like to wait for it. Come now.”

”All right, then,” said Tom still sulkily, but glad that he had yielded. A few minutes later they entered a large hall where perhaps six or seven hundred soldiers had gathered.

There are few counties in England where music is more cultivated than in Lancas.h.i.+re, and that night Tom listened almost spellbound. Songs that he knew and loved were sung; songs which he had heard Alice Lister sing. Recitations were given in broad Lancas.h.i.+re dialect which gave him keen enjoyment. More than all this there was a feeling of good-fellows.h.i.+p; the Y.M.C.A. workers were evidently on the friendliest of terms with the men, while there was no suggestion of goody-goodyism.

”This is a special occasion, I suppose,” said Tom to Penrose.

”Oh no, they have entertainments like this almost every night. All the musical people in the district give their services.”

”What for?” asked Tom.

”Just to give us soldiers a good time; but we must be going now.”

”Why?” asked Tom, ”it's not late.”

”But there's a fellow just going to speak, and as you object to being preached to we had better go.”

Tom rose almost reluctantly. He was not sure that he didn't want to hear what the man had to say.

”Besides,” went on Penrose, ”I haven't shown you over the place yet. I want to take you into the rooms which are provided for writing letters, and playing games; there are the French cla.s.ses too, and I should like you to see what they are like.”

That night at eleven o'clock, as Tom went back to the house where he had been billeted, he felt that he had indeed made a fool of himself.

The Y.M.C.A. rooms had the feeling of home; none of the people there wanted his money, and he was the better, not the worse, for going.

”Of course,” said Tom to himself as he went to bed, ”religious lolly-pops are not fit for a grown-up man, but it wur a grand evening; I am sure I could pick up that French, too. Let's see, how did it go?

”_Je suis_ I am.

_Vous etes_ you are.

_Nous sommes_ we are.

_Ils sont_ they are.

”Why, it's easy enough,” thought Tom, ”I could pick it up, and then when I go over to France I shall be able to speak their lingo.”