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diff --git a/40501-8.txt b/40501-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5d26564..0000000 --- a/40501-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8150 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Blower of Bubbles, by Arthur Beverley Baxter - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Blower of Bubbles - -Author: Arthur Beverley Baxter - -Release Date: August 14, 2012 [EBook #40501] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLOWER OF BUBBLES *** - - - - -Produced by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -_The_ BLOWER _of_ BUBBLES - - -BY - -ARTHUR BEVERLEY BAXTER - - -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -NEW YORK -1920 - -COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - TO - MY MOTHER - - - - -PREFACE - - -It was one of Dumas' characters, I believe, who said: "I do not -apologize--I explain." The purpose of this brief preface is to explain -the many imperfections which of necessity appear in this volume. - -It was at a dance after Armistice, given by American officers in the -Palace Hotel, London, that I met a young lady who had landed from New -York two days previously. - -"My goodness!" she said, "they don't have any furnaces in their houses -here; and I've been trying all day to buy some rubbers, and no one knew -what I meant. My goodness! but they're backward over here." - -I looked at her face and recognized the joyful mania of the explorer. -She was "discovering" England. - -Before the war, England was "discovered" fairly often--but during the -war it became the passion of hundreds of thousands, Americans, -Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, Newfoundlanders, South -Africans--we all brought our particular national viewpoint and centered -it on the "tight little Island," nor were we backward about telling the -English of their faults. Each one of us stated (or implied) that his -own country was the special acreage of God, and that the Kaiser ought -to be made to live in foggy London as a punishment. - -And for more than four years the Old Country listened patiently as the -throngs of adventurers poured in from the world's outskirts. The -stately homes of England were opened in their stately, hospitable way; -English taxicab drivers insulted and robbed us just as cheerfully as -they did their own countrymen; English girls proved the best of -comrades; and the Englishman proper continued to be the world's -greatest enigma. - -So, in claiming admittance to that vast throng that has already -discovered England, I do so with a certain humility but a hope that, -when my words are sifted, some little ore of truth may be discovered at -the bottom. - -In three of the five stories of this collection, I have usurped the -power of the Wizard of Oz, and have looked through three pairs of -glasses. In "The Blower of Bubbles" an Englishman subjects his own -country to analysis; in "Mr. Craighouse of New York, Satirist," the -glasses used are American and the medium is a New Yorker; in "The Airy -Prince" (the last and favorite child) a girl of sixteen from Picardy is -transplanted by aeroplane for one full day in wartime London. - -In the remaining two stories I have endeavored to paint something of -city life in Canada in the one, and in the other to do some little -justice to that least understood type--the French Canadian. - -During an interesting but undistinguished career of nearly four years -with the Canadian Forces, I realized that, although the army gives one -plenty of food for thought, it sometimes fails to supply facilities for -assimilation. _Par exemple_: "Mr. Craighouse of New York, Satirist," -was started in hospital at Abbéville, France, where my fellow-patients -assumed me to be a lovelorn swain, writing a love-letter that never -left off. Later, "Mr. Craighouse" developed a couple of thousand words -in a charming home of Scotland. The last part of the story was finished -at a table in the Turkish baths of the Royal Automobile Club, London, -where the attendants were good enough to consider me eccentric, but -apparently not violent. - -Under the robust companionship of several normal and talkative -subalterns, "The Blower of Bubbles" was written in a hut at Seaford -Camp during the month of November, 1918. As my stove was a consistent -performer, nearly every evening a few choice souls gathered for cocoa -and refreshments from home; and if their host persisted in writing at -his improvised table it did not disturb their good-fellowship in the -least, providing the author did not threaten to read his "stuff" aloud. - -It was in that hut in the mud of Seaford that, one November morning, a -little before eleven o'clock, we heard the sound of ships' sirens in -Newhaven Harbor some miles away; then a distant shouting, that grew in -a great crescendo, as it rode across the downs on the throats of -thousands of soldiers, and passed us in one great prolonged roar, "The -Germans have signed!" - -We missed Armistice Day in London, but I like to think of the thirty -Canadian officers, most of them veterans of many battles, gathered in -the mess of that bleakest of camps, while one chap at the piano played -the national anthems of the nations who had fought ... and in voices -that were not too steady we echoed the toast: "To the Allies and -America." - -And so "I do not apologize--I explain." - -In avoiding the "war-story" type, I have followed my own inclinations, -and have taken rather the inconspicuous parts played by ordinary people -who had never dreamed of being actors in the world's greatest drama. To -avoid the background of war would be utterly impossible, for war has -been a fever in our blood these last four years, and not in one or two -generations will our veins be free of it. - -If it seems in these stories that there is a recurrent note on the -necessity of artistic expression for the Old Country, the reason for it -is that we came from the Dominions to a land we all knew, because -English literature had made England our Mother-Country in the real -sense of the word. It is the hope of many of us that the artists of -Britain--whether they be writers, painters, or composers--will yet -realize that the Empire looks to them, as well as to the knights of the -air, to bridge the seas, and by their art make us feel as great a -kinship in peace as we did in war. Dickens and Burns were more than -writers; they were literature's ambassadors, and played no -inconsiderable part in empire-building. - -Perhaps, as the study of ordinary people gripped by emotions which left -no one ordinary, this volume of stories may be of some little interest. -They filled many dull hours in the writing.... It would be a rich -reward for the author if he could think that they do away with a few -dull hours in the reading. - -ARTHUR BEVERLEY BAXTER - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE BLOWER OF BUBBLES 1 - - II. PETITE SIMUNDE 97 - -III. THE MAN WHO SCOFFED 141 - - IV. THE AIRY PRINCE 191 - - V. MR. CRAIGHOUSE OF NEW YORK, SATIRIST 287 - - - - -_The_ BLOWER _of_ BUBBLES - -I - - -Snow was falling in Sloane Square, quarreling with rain as it fell. -Lamps were gleaming sulkily in Sloane Square, as though they resented -being made to work on such a night, and had more than a notion to down -tools and go out of business altogether. Motor-cars were passing -through Sloane Square, with glaring lights, sliding and skidding like -inebriated dragons; and the clattering hoofs of horses drawing vagabond -cabs sounded annoyingly loud in the damp-charged air of Sloane Square. - -It was Christmas Eve in Sloane Square, and the match-woman, the vender -of newspapers, and the impossible road-sweeper were all exacting the -largesse of passers-by, who felt that the six-penny generosity of a -single night atoned for a year's indifference to their lot. People were -wishing each other a merry Christmas in Sloane Square, as they -struggled along under ungainly parcels. The muffin-man was doing an -enormous trade. - -And I looked from my window and prayed for Aladdin's Lamp or the Magic -Carpet, that I might place a thousand miles between myself and Sloane -Square. - -There was a knock at the door. - -"Enter the Slave of the Lamp," said I, and the door opened to admit--my -landlady, Mrs. Mulvaney. - -"Will you be dining in?" she said. Her Irish accent hardly helped the -illusion of the all-potent slave. - -"And why not?" I asked. - -"Ach, nothing, sor. I only thought----" - -"An unwomanly thing to do, Mrs. Mulvaney." - -"You're afther being a strange one, dining alone on Christmas Eve." - -"Then join me, Mrs. Mulvaney." - -I swear she blushed, and I felt more than a little envious of the -nature which could convert such a vinegary attempt at condescension -into a gallantry. - -"F'what would I be doing, taking dinner wid a child like you?" - -I was twenty-five, but Mrs. Mulvaney looked on all men as equally -immature. - -"And have you not got no friends?" she went on, but I stopped her with -a gesture. - -"Thank Heaven--no!" I said. "I am one of intellectuality's hermits. An -educated man in London is like the bell-cow of the herd--a thing -apart." - -"You're a great fool, I'm afther thinking." - -"The foolish always damn the wise," I answered, with an attempt at -epigrammatic misquotation. - -Mrs. Mulvaney heaved a sigh. Its very forcefulness recalled the -nautical meaning of the verb. - -"You'd be a sight happier outside," she said. "Holy Mary knows I -wouldn't be driving you into the streets, but I'm worried you'd get -cross wid yourself at home." - -To get rid of her, I put on my coat and went out. Perhaps she was -right; things would have been intolerable at home. Home! Such a -travesty of the word! The sickly lamplight of Sloane Square was -preferable. - -"Merry Christmas, guv'nor!" said the road-sweeper. - -"Merry fiddlesticks!" I growled, and gave him sixpence. I tried to -avoid the vender of newspapers, but he spotted my fur collar with the -instinct of a mendicant, handing me a paper and his blessing. - -"'Appy Christmas, milord!" said he. - -I paid him a shilling for his diplomacy. - -Thinking to escape the match-woman, I altered my course, but with the -intuition of her sex she contrived to put herself directly in my path. - -"It's a cauld nicht," she moaned in a rickety, quavering Scottish -voice--"a cauld, wintry nicht. Ye'll be haein' a wee box o' matches, -aw'm thinkin'!" - -I gave her twopence for them, and she shivered with cold as her skinny -fingers clutched the coins. I can think of no excuse for my parsimony -except the fact that I didn't need the wretched box--matches were not -yet a luxury of the very exclusive. - -Yes--in all Sloane Square, on that damp and foggy Christmas Eve in the -year 1913, I doubt if a more morose, self-satisfied, cynical human -being plunged into the mists than I. I was unhappy, and reveled in my -very unhappiness. If it had been in my power, I would have sent a cloud -of gloom into every home and over every hearth in London. There was -something splendid, something classical, in my melancholy; it was like -Hamlet's, but greater than Hamlet's, for he knew the reason of his -mood, while mine was born of an intangible superiority to my day! - -It is not easy, even now, to write of those days. The figure that -crosses the screen of memory reminds me of Chevy Slyme--a debt-paying, -respectable Chevy Slyme, forsooth!--but just as sulkily swaggering, -just as superior, and not quite so human; for Chevy, at least, inspired -the friendship of Mr. Tigg. - - -II - -Unconsciously following the bus route, I emerged eventually on -Piccadilly, and was jostled and ogled and blessed and cursed with the -greatest heartiness. Somewhere near Bond Street I collided heavily with -a young man who was trying to negotiate the crowd and at the same time -lose nothing of the shop windows' display. - -"A thousand devils!" I muttered, recoiling from the impact. - -"A thousand pardons!" he said, raising his hat. The graceful lilt of -his voice was peculiarly reminiscent; his smooth brow and silky fair -hair were both familiar and elusive. - -"One moment----" He gazed into my face with a searching look, keeping -his hat poised in the air as if the better to concentrate his thoughts. -"Not the Pest?" he said. - -I nodded, and, if the truth be told, felt not a little pleased at the -sound of the old _nom d'école_ earned when I was at Westminster. - -"And how," I said, "is the Blower of Bubbles?" - -For answer he replaced his hat at a rakish angle and shook my hand with -both his for what seemed a full minute, the crowd parting -good-naturedly like a wave encircling a rock. - -"My dear old Pest," he said, "we shall dine together." - -"I'm sorry, but----" - -"There is a perfectly vile restaurant half-a-mile from here, that has -the best violinist and the worst cook in London." - -"My dear chap----" - -"Of all the luck! Think of my running into you on Christmas Eve!" - -And just then I noticed that we were no longer standing still, but -proceeding up a side street, arm-in-arm, while his disengaged hand -indicated the passing scene as if it were the most gorgeous bazaar of -the Orient. He spoke with extraordinary rapidity, except in uttering -certain words, when he would make a slurring pause, as a singer will -let a note melt into a pianissimo, then race on again with renewed -vigor. It was a fascinating trick of speech, and, added to the subtle -inflections of his voice, never failed to startle one into the closest -attention. - -I turned to him once with some remark on my lips, and noticed that his -eyes were dancing with merriment. - -"What is it, Pest?" he cried. "Out with it!" - -I smiled gloomily; but still it was a smile. - -"Why," I said, "aren't the lamps in Sloane Square bright like these?" - -He didn't answer. Probably he knew the truth would have hurt. - - -III - -What a hole to dine in on Christmas Eve! Such waiters--such -guests--such food--such wine! - -I believe the proprietor owned three such establishments, each, in a -triumph of irony, called "Arcadia." The very linen of the waiters -drooped disconsolately, and the whole place reeked of cabbage and wet -umbrellas. My spirits, which had risen momentarily from their classic -depths, sank like the sands of an egg-timer. - -"My dear fellow," I said, "you can't mean to dine here?" - -An oily waiter ambled up to us and wrung his hands in a paroxysm of -welcome. - -"Your tabil, Meester Norman," he said in some nondescript foreign -dialect, "iss ready." - -Good heavens! The Blower of Bubbles had even ordered dinner in advance! -With the feelings of an unwilling martyr, I followed my friend and his -escort past tawdry millinery saleswomen, dining in state with their -knights-errant of the haberdashery stores; by a table where a woman was -gazing admiringly at a man with a face as expressionless as a pumpkin; -through a lane of chattering, laughing, rasping denizens of the London -that is neither West End nor East End--of people whose clothes, faces, -and voices merged into a positive debauch of mediocrity. - -When we were seated and had ordered something from the waiter, I turned -to Basil Norman for an explanation. - -"What is it?" I asked. "An affair with a seamstress, or are you just -looking for 'copy'?" - -He laughed and lit a cigarette. - -"Pest," he said, "this is a caprice of mine, a tit-bit for my vanity. -You would have chosen the 'Trocadero' or the 'Ritz,' with all the -tyranny of Olympian and largessed waiters with whom it is impossible to -attain the least pretence of equality. I prefer 'Arcadia,' where I am -something of a patron saint, and am even consulted by the proprietor." - -"You play to humble audiences." - -"Quietly, Pest--the proprietor might hear you. He is a very Magog for -dignity, I assure you, in spite of his asthma." - -"I gather, then, that you are a regular diner here?" - -"Hardly that. But I am a little more consistent than most of his -patrons. To be candid"--he leaned towards me as if it were a secret of -the first magnitude--"it's his cook." - -"His what?" - -"His cook. Really, I'm afraid he's hardly first class." - -"I am certain of it." - -"He would have made an admirable medieval Jesuit, but, as a matter of -fact, I wonder Steinburg----" - -"The proprietor?" - -"Yes. I don't know why he keeps him on. He says the fellow has a couple -of blind children, and if he were dismissed under a cloud he would have -trouble in securing employment. But that's not business. The fellow's -an ass, isn't he?" - -Whereupon his face beamed with delight, and his gray eyes twinkled like -diamonds. My comment on the matter was stifled by the arrival of -_hors-d'oeuvre_. I had no idea that one tray could hold such a variety -of unpalatable things. At the table next to us a woman laughed -boisterously, her shoulders, which were fat and formless, vibrating -like blanc-mange. - -"Ah!" said Basil Norman; "Klotz has arrived." - -He indicated a low platform, where a dingy pianist, pimply of -countenance and long of hair, was strumming the barbaric discords that -always accompany the tuning of stringed instruments. A violinist, with -his back towards us, was strangling his instrument into submission; -while a cellist, possessed of enormous eyebrows and a superb immobility -of pasty-facial expressionlessness, sat by his cello as though he had -been lured there under false pretenses, and had no intention of taking -any part in the proceedings--unless forced to do so by a writ of -habeas-corpus. A fourth musician, who seemed all shirt and collar, blew -fitfully into a flute, as if he realized it was an irrelevant thing, -and was trying to rouse it to a sense of responsibility. - -"Which," I asked, "is Klotz?" - -As I spoke the violinist turned about and caught my host's eye. They -both bowed--Norman cordially; the musician, I thought, with restraint. -The fellow stood out as a man apart from his accomplices; his high -forehead and dreamy eyes were those of an artist, though a receding -chin robbed his face of strength. He was the type one sees so -often--able to touch, but never grasp, the cup of success. - -"Klotz," said Norman, "is superb. He has the touch of the artist about -him. His tone is not always good, and sometimes he scratches; but when -he is at his best he does big things. So many people can perform at -music--just as so many write at words--but Klotz plays with color. His -art has all the charm of a day in April. He will caress a phrase -according to his mood, like a mother crooning to her child. To know how -to hesitate before a note in a melody, as a worshiper hesitates at the -entrance to a shrine, is Art, and an Art that cannot be taught. - -"It is so with painters, writers, musicians--they must have that sense -of color, that instinct that brings each subtle nuance of expression -into being." - -I began to feel bored. - -Suddenly the orchestra became animated and burst into a waltz, one of -those ageless, rhythmic compositions that might have been the very -first or the very last waltz ever written. Supported by wailing strings -and the irrelevant flute, the enjoyment of the diners took on fresh -impetus. The lady with the shoulders became a vibrating obbligato. The -pumpkin-faced man beamed fatuous delight, an electric light behind him -giving the odd effect that he was illuminated inside like a Hallow-e'en -figure. A girl, who might have been pretty if she hadn't rouged, took a -puff from her toilet-case and powdered her nose. She felt that the -evening was commencing. Over the whole scene my melancholy brooded as a -ghostly presence. To me it seemed like the dominant seventh in a chord -of surfeiting commonplaceness; once it was heard, the whole pitch of -the evening would alter to another key. - -Fortunately the dominant seventh remained unheard. - -The waltz stopped, and we turned our undivided attention to dinner. - -"Klotz," said my host, pouring me a glass of wine, "should have made a -mark, but----" - -"Damn Klotz!" - -"That has been done, Pest. The Bricklayers' Union, or something equally -esthetic, took exception to him for one reason or another, and -prevailed upon its sister-cabal to debar him from the big orchestras. -To offend your Union, dear boy, is to accomplish the total eclipse of -your future. Even genius to-day is subject to regulations. Klotz is in -a worse position than a clerk with a Board School education trying to -secure employment in a London bank." - -"Confound it!" I said, "there must be some spheres reserved for -gentlemen." - -His twinkling eyes steadied, and a dreamy look crept into them. "Pest," -he murmured, "some day England is going to thank God for the -gentlemen--who were educated at Board Schools. Listen!--the cellist is -playing Saint-Saëns." - -Dinner--or the mess of foodstuffs dignified by the name--was almost -finished when Klotz, the violinist, started one of the rare melodies -which Wagner permitted himself--the Song to the Evening Star. - -It was being beautifully played--even I would have admitted that--but I -could not account for the troubled look that crept into my companion's -face, driving the gayety and the whimsicality from it as a cloud -obscures the sunlight. - -"Klotz," he said anxiously, "is in great sorrow." - -"How the deuce," I muttered, with a feeling of creepiness stealing over -me, "can you tell that? Do you read it in his face?" - -He shook his head. "Listen!" he said; "can't you hear it? Can't you -feel the tears in it?" - -And in spite of myself I remained silent, held irresistibly by the -double fascination of the German's artistry and the sense of mystery -engendered by Norman. The last sob of the G string quivered to its -finish. The crowd applauded perfunctorily, then applied themselves to -the more essential things of life--food, wine and noise. - -Rousing myself from the reverie into which I had fallen, I turned to -Norman, and found his chair vacated. I started. He had reached the -platform, and was talking earnestly to the violinist. Half-contemptuous -and half-interested, I watched the pantomime as they talked. Norman's -hands were emphasizing some point, and every gesture was a pleasure to -the eye; the musician was protesting, but with steadily abating -determination. Then the scene came to a climax, and the German -disappeared. - -Holding the violin in his arms, Basil Norman mounted the platform, the -fingers of his left hand picking quiet, pizzicato notes from the -strings. - -"My friends----" His voice traveled like sound on the ocean at -twilight; the room subsided into silence, and diners craned their necks -to see him. The woman with the shoulders brought them to a standstill, -like an electric fan that had lost its current. - -"My friends"--what a charming voice the fellow had!--"I do not want to -bring a note of sorrow into your happiness. You are here, like my -companion and myself, for enjoyment; but Herr Klotz ... his wife is -very ill; she is perhaps dying; and, my friends, it is very hard that -he should play while his wife is dying ... on Christmas Eve ... in a -strange country. You are English, and I know you are kind. I have sent -him home, and I promised that I would take his place, as well as I can -take the place of such an artist. For you who work so hard, it is not -fair to spoil your happiness on this of all nights--but you will -forgive me? Good!" - -And his face had a whimsical, tender look. - -A murmur of sympathy rose from the crowd, but died away as he raised -the violin in his hands and brought from it a tone that breathed over -them like a benediction. It was Gounod's "_Ave Maria_," and the -pianist's fingers were mothering the keys as they had not done since -his ambition evaporated like a cloud on a summer day. - -It was exquisite--haunting. It was a prayer to Mary, but a prayer sung -in a field of daisies and violets. There was sorrow in it, but it was -the grief of a girl over a shattered dream. It was mature artistry, yet -was born of sunshine and throbbed with the primrose sweetness of youth. -It touched one like the face of a beautiful child. - -Still caressing the violin, he repeated the "_Ave Maria_," whistling a -unison. With almost any one else it would have been commonplace; with -him it was a sound more pleasing than any flute, and only accentuated -his sense of emancipation from the thrall of years. He played "_Still -wie die Nacht_," "_Old King Wenceslaus_," "_Meditation_" from Thaïs, -"_Intermezzo_" of Mascagni; and whatever he did, or however hackneyed -the piece, he surrounded it with a joyousness that trembled on the -brink of tears. - -I looked at my watch; it was nearly midnight, and the evening so -dreaded was almost at a close. He had put down his violin with a -gesture of finality, when the prolonged outburst of applause changed -his decision, and, with another of those rare smiles, he took the -instrument once more. - - Maxwellton's braes are bonnie - Where early fa's the dew, - And it's there that Annie Laurie - Gi'ed me her promise true.... - -The violin seemed to speak the words; and I'll swear there wasn't a -woman in the place who wasn't recalling the sweet innocence of her -first love. He had hardly finished, when the man with the face like a -pumpkin jumped to his feet, and I rubbed my eyes. - -The fellow had changed. His face had expression. Confound it! there was -something rather splendid about his features--a kindliness--a---- - -"Young feller, m'lad," he was saying, "I knows I speaks for hevery one -when I says we ain't 'eard music like that there since we was knee-'igh -to a grass'opper, and I knows you won't take it hamiss if we was to -pass the 'at and----" - -I held my breath. What would the Blower of Bubbles say? - -"You're a brick, sir!" His voice was a mellow contrast to the other's. -"My friends, this gentleman has suggested that we pass the hat for our -poor friend Klotz." - -"I didn't neither," protested the benefactor. "Leastways----" - -But the woman of the shoulders cut him short by placing two shillings -beside him. It was tactful of her, a kindly thing to do, and again I -was amazed. There was a womanly, motherly look about her as she turned -away, and her eyes were radiant like stars in a mist. - -I think I gave ten bob--it must have been a considerable amount, for -the girl who would have been pretty if she hadn't rouged looked -straight into my eyes and said something that sounded like a blessing. -I hope it was; she made me think of a little sister I once had. - -And then we were walking together again in the street, and the crowds -were thinner than before. I cannot remember what we talked of, but I -know I said to him, "Where did you learn to play like that?" - -And he answered, "My dear old boy, music must be loved, not learned." - -Then we were in Sloane Square, at my flat, and I was thanking him, or -he was thanking me--I forget which; and he promised to call at noon -next day to take me to Klotz's home.... And the lamps in Sloane Square -seemed duller than before. - -Selfishness does not die in an hour, but the bachelor who looked from -his window that night was a different man from the one who had spoken -to Mrs. Mulvaney. He was thinking ... and much is accomplished in -itself when a man is made to think. - -A distant clock struck one. - - -IV - -I have never known any one to change so little with the cycle of years -as Basil Norman. When he came to Westminster, at the age of twelve, he -had an easy nonchalance, a delightful insouciance, that never left him. -He went from form to form, trod the stone-flagged passages as others -did; but the youth of seventeen that left Westminster bore the same -smiling, detached personality as when he entered. The atmosphere of -tradition interested but did not drug him; the Elizabethan pancake -impressed him less than did a contemporary Edwardian soap-bubble. - -Conscientious form-masters recognized his extraordinary abilities, and -gave him the benefit of well-worded and impressive homilies on -achievement. Sometimes for effect they quoted Latin. Norman would -counter with a "Greek remark." He never studied, but more than one -scholar owed success to the eleventh-hour coaching of Basil Norman. -Learning, like everything else, came to him as a needle to a magnet. - -With a curious air of detachment he watched the panorama of schoolboy -life, noticing with a discerning eye the various strata upon which -public-school morality is founded, assigning the relative importance of -scholarship and cricket, and nodding knowingly as the process of -standardization brought similarity of speech, accent, thought, and -vocabulary to all his fellows. - -He was like a Puck who had never been really young, but who refused to -become a day older. - -For a few weeks he played cricket, but without reverence. During a -match he kept up (_sotto voce_, of course) a running commentary of -philosophy which, according to our ethics, was vulgar. I shudder to -think what he would have done if Westminster had adopted baseball. - -On one occasion the captain of the eleven took upon himself to point -out to Basil Norman the error of his ways. The worthy demigod deplored -Norman's habit of lying on the grass during practice and inventing -couplets on the various members of the team. The captain also said -that, providing he would take the game seriously, there was a future -for him as a cricketer. Whereupon Norman, from his recumbent position, -misquoted most of the "To be, or not to be" soliloquy, unblushingly -attributing Hamlet's indecision towards living to his doubts of himself -as a cricketer. When he finished he rose to his feet, and our comments -were frozen at the sight of his face. - -His cheeks had a ghastly pallor and his eyes were brilliant, but with a -fixed, glaring intensity. And as we looked his expression changed--the -color returned with a glow of warmth to his skin, and his eyes were -gray and humorous. Being boys, we forgot about it as quickly as it had -happened. - -The next Saturday we played Charterhouse, and though the score was -heavily against us, Norman gave the finest exhibition of batting I have -seen in public-school cricket, scoring a century and winning the match -for us. He was frail but lithe, and with an air of aplomb batted the -offerings of Charterhouse to all points of the compass. At the finish -of the game we crowded around him, but he smiled a little wearily, and -shook his head. - -"I am finished with cricket," he said. - -Bewilderment, then anathema, broke like a thunder-shower upon the head -of Basil Norman. We pleaded; we argued; we threatened; then we used -language which possessed the merit of forcefulness and frankness. We -called him a swine, a rotter, a skunk, and an absolute cad. Some one -ventured the opinion that he was a perfect stink, and we all stood -about him like the Klu Klux Klan trying a negro malefactor. - -"Gentlemen," he said--and there was a delightful touch of irony in the -word--"you have come to bury, not to praise, me; yet, unlike Cæsar, I -am not ambitious." - -"Swine!" said Smith tertius (or was it quartus?). - -"In spite of the witty comment of me learned friend," said Norman, -after the manner of the leading counsel of the day, "I have always held -the opinion that life is a thing to be sipped, not drunk. I have played -cricket--_veni, vidi_, I scored a century! I would not spoil me -appetite, milords, by overgorging." - -"Your conduct," said Grubbs, the captain, "is rotten. It shows that you -don't give a fig for the honor of the school. If you want to be a pig, -you can wear the cap of one." (We all knew what he meant, and admired -him frightfully for his venture into the quagmire of metaphor.) "We -will send you to Coventry until you come to your senses." - -The culprit bowed airily. - -"You will lose much more by my silence than I by yours," he said--and -it takes considerable courage to make such a statement to a tribunal of -schoolboys. - -If Norman suffered from our aloofness, he took it with the same -nonchalance as he had taken our plaudits. Oddly enough, he had no -intimate friends, and all of us, partly out of resentment against his -pose of onlooker, and more from the love of torture which links the -schoolboy to the savage, performed our duty of silent punishment with a -zeal which deserved a better inspiration. We forgot how he had made -friends with the misfits whose square personalities were being drawn -through the round hole of public-school life. Little chaps he had taken -in hand on arrival when they wanted to weep for loneliness turned from -him as if he held contagion. All the sensitive, shrinking ones about -whom he had thrown his cloak of vivacity, and who were now grown bold -and self-reliant, let him pass from the Little Dean's Yard to his house -and through the ancient passages, a lonely debonair figure that always -smiled.... And no one spoke to him. I, whom he had named "The Pest," -thus turning my naturally perverse sulkiness into a subject of jest and -good-humor, took a special delight in watching the man who had been -sentenced by his peers to solitude in the midst of a crowd. - -His peers?... Was it Smith tertius (or quartus) who used the word -"swine"? - -Two weeks had passed, and we were to play Winchester a decisive match -on our grounds, which, as land near the cathedral is rather difficult -to obtain, are almost a mile from the school. - -The stage was set. Youthful scholars of ten and twelve walked in their -gowns, their brows knit with thought, their eyes blinking from -over-study. Little chaps struggled under the responsibility of silk -toppers, and conversed solemnly on the deterioration of the tuck-shop; -and the Olympian creature who was the head-boy of the school lounged -outside the scoring-booth as if he were "fed up" with nectar, and would -like some brown October ale for a change--a pose much favored by the -best people in England. There was an excellent audience of the -secondary sex, composed of proud mothers and apologetic sisters, whose -presence was necessitating a sort of Jekyll and Hyde attitude on the -part of their schoolboy relatives, who were endeavoring to be polite to -their "people" and at the same time give the impression to their -_confrères_ that the women were mere acquaintances--accidental dinner -partners, as it were. - -No schoolboy of twelve likes to admit to a mother. - -Surrounding the field there is a high iron fence, through the railings -of which, or on top, a motley collection of gamins cheer on their -wealthier brethren of the silk hats. Naturally no notice is taken of -these uninvited guests. It is quite all right for them to shout for -Westminster if it gives them any pleasure, but what has a silk hat in -common with a red kerchief and a slouch-cap? - -On the day of the match they seemed in larger numbers than usual, and -the top of the fence was covered with urchins, who retained their -position of vantage as though the law of gravitation were no concern of -theirs, keeping up a shrill chorus as Winchester went out for a -moderate score. - -With the odds all in our favor we went in to bat, Grubbs, the captain, -and I leading off. The first ball was wide, but to feel the play of my -muscles I took a perfunctory swing at it with my bat. The effect was -extraordinary.... The crowd of Cockney youngsters raised a volume of -sound as if my bat had been a baton and they a chorus. - -"Gow it, Pest!" "That's the style, Gloomy!" "Troy t' other hend, -Bluntnose!" "Gee, he's got odd socks on!" "Nah then, Spiderlegs!" (The -blunt nose and the legs I admit to, but the accusation of odd socks was -pure malice.) - -The next ball, with no twist at all, bowled me clean, and I walked off -the field to the tune of high-pitched shrieks of delight, and with a -face that flushed a dark red. My place was taken by Smith tertius (or -quartus), whose appearance caused an even greater furore than mine. - -"'Ooray for Bones!" greeted the lanky youth as he emerged--"'im as his -the loife of the school!" (He was the most morose of boys.) "'I, Bones, -'oo did you crib from this time, eh?" (A subtle allusion to an ancient -offense which had almost earned him expulsion.) - -The first ball came for Smith with an inviting hop. He watched it--went -to strike at it--changed his mind--reconsidered his decision, and swung -at the air as the ball passed over the bails by an inch, a feat which -seemed to gratify our enemies on the fence immensely. - -"Nah then, Bones, non o' that there contortionizing!" "'It the ball, -Bones; don't miss it!" - -And he did--a miserable little pop into the air; the chap in the slips -didn't have to move a foot to gather it in. - -Mr. Smith then added his proof that Shakespeare was right when he said -in this world we have our exits and our entrances. - -The next six batters went out for a score of eleven, bowled clean by -the most intimate volume of abusive chaff ever endured by a cricket -team. Skeletons were not only being taken from their closets, but -paraded brazenly before the eyes of the world. The secret history of -Westminster was screamed from the fence-tops. - -It was after the loss of our eighth wicket that Grubbs and I, who had -stolen round by the street, stalked and discovered their ringleader. - -"That's him," said the captain hoarsely--the situation was too tense to -permit of the niceties of grammar. I followed the line of his accusing -finger--and gasped. There was no mistaking those gray twinkling eyes, -although they were almost hidden behind a huge bandage, presumably for -mumps. He was dressed in a rough coster suit, with a villainous cap on -one side of his head and a bandit's red kerchief about his neck. - -"It _is_ him," I said dramatically. - -"I thought so," said Grubbs, and cleared his throat. "Norman," he -cried. "Kid--Norman." - -The young rascal, who was sitting on top of a post, more like a Puck -than ever, swiveled about and solemnly winked one eye. "Do I understand -that the ban of silence is lifted?" he said from behind the mumps -bandage. - -Grubbs considered, and then made a tactful and instantaneous decision. -(Small wonder that a few years later he was entrusted with a war -mission to Washington, of the utmost delicacy.) - -"You've had your revenge," he said, "and the joke is on us. Call your -mob off, will you?" - -"You're quite sure you wouldn't like us to encourage the remainder for -a change?" - -"Quite sure." - -"So be it, my captain." - -He blew a whistle through his fingers, and in a moment the fence was -denuded of mortals like a tree smitten by an autumn gale. The Blower of -Bubbles removed his bandage, and presented a stocky youth with three -shillings. - -"Buy sweets for the crowd," he said, "and mind--play fair." - -"Right you har', guv'nor"; and the mob disappeared. And thus ended the -riot of the slouch-cap against the silk hat. To-day, if you are passing -the field during a match, you will see that the gamins are still there, -but they shout only for Westminster. - -We were just turning away, when Basil Norman laid his hand on Grubbs's -forearm, as a girl might do, and his eyes had a wistful look. - -"Before I change into more fitting garb," he said airily, then -paused.... My breathing seemed to stop at the sight--his face had gone -suddenly white, and his eyes were glazed. - -"Grubbs!" he cried, and his voice sounded hollow. "Don't you -understand?... Oh, _you damned fool_, can't you see it's my heart?" - - -V - -After Westminster I went to Cambridge, and succeeded in cultivating the -Oxford manner, by which all Cambridge men are known. When I emerged -from there I offered myself to the highest bidder (a sudden bankruptcy -of my father having made an occupation essential). - -A London newspaper was the fortunate winner in the mad race for my -services, though it would have been difficult for it to lose, as there -was but one entry. - -I became a writer of power--not quite so much so as the gentleman -to-day who wields his pen as he would a bludgeon, and succeeds in -writing a powerful article each week; but still I was a writer of -strength. I damned the present, doubted the future, and deplored the -past. I became an honored member of the group of London writers whose -entire genius is exhausted in criticism. I secured a bowing -acquaintance with Bernard Shaw, and always spoke of H. G. Wells as Mr. -Wells. It was obvious to me that to achieve literary success in England -one must abuse England--but especially any one who tried to change her. - -Some of my _confrères_ sided with Bernard Shaw and attacked -middle-class morality and patriotism. Mr. Arnold Bennett had a certain -following, though we agreed that his Five Towns stories were not really -critical, but merely observant. We did not know at the time that he had -it in him to write _The Pretty Lady_, which was to be neither. For -myself, I was drawn towards Mr. Wells, and hit at everything like a -blindfolded pugilist. - -We agreed with Granville Barker that Irving had reduced the value of -Shakespeare by over-staging; and we endorsed the opinion of a dramatic -critic, known to the public as "Jingle," who said that Shakespeare's -lines were often worthy of an Oxford undergraduate. - -For pastime we abused Lord Roberts as a monomaniac, and Winston -Churchill as a kleptomaniac with a passion for stealing the thunder of -others. We even argued that the Church had lost its grip, and wrote -eloquently on the value of doubt. With admirable _esprit de corps_ -we refrained from attacking the public-school system, though we -realized that one could always get a hearing by so doing. - -And every year those schools were turning out their thousands and the -universities their hundreds; every year our number was strengthened by -well-routined brains that took to destructive criticism like a German -to barbarity. - -Somebody was writing our puerile dramas; some one was producing the -trash which flooded our book-stalls; some brain was conceiving the -tawdry stuff which was educating the millions in the cinemas.... But we -thanked Heaven that we were not as other men. We were England's -educated class. For the education of England fails to teach one that a -country's art and literature are as vital to the nation as speech to -the individual. - -I took a flat in Sloane Square and read Russian novels. Whenever I -discovered a new Russian author, I quoted him as if I had known him all -my life; it used to pain me to find how unrecognized he was by my -fellows. I attended the opera only on Russian nights, and I became a -devotee of the Russian dancers. I used to quote Russian in my paper, -and brought down the curse of a hundred typesetters upon my head. - -I think every writer has his Russian period. - -Once or twice I heard of Basil Norman, though our paths did not cross. -Some one claimed that Norman could have been a great violinist, if---- -Another told me that _Punch_ had published a delicate little sonnet of -his that had the quality of tears about it. There was no question (he -said), if---- An artist I met had painted one landscape that defied -criticism--even ours--and I spoke of the exquisite coloring and detail -of the foreground. - -"I could not have done that," he said, "but for Basil Norman, who -brooded over me like an inspiration. The work is mine, but the -conception his. If----" - -Yet the world did not know of his existence. He remained a detached -personality, treading lightly where sorrow was, singing his song of the -sunlight wherever ears had become dulled with discouragement. A -fantastic, gentle, twinkling-eyed prince in a kingdom of butterflies -and violets. Try as I would, I could not refrain from contrasting my -life of literary vivisection with his primrose youth that seemed -eternal, springing from a genuine joy in living, a youth that was as -perfect as a melody of Chopin's. - -"The happiest of Christmases, old Pest!" - -The subject of my thoughts was standing before me, and the bells were -clamoring exultantly on the frosty air. - -I gripped his hand, and something in his eyes told me the truth.... He -had come for me because I was lonely and needed him. - -And the message of the bells took on a new meaning. - - -VI - -We walked into the brisk, vibrating sunshine of a glorious Christmas -morning. He had taken my arm, and was chatting gayly on everything from -"cabbages to kings." Sometimes his nostrils dilated, and he would look -up as if he were actually drinking in the ozone of the air; and he -seemed younger than ever, with a joyousness born of sheer intoxication -with life. We walked for a mile, and all the time his mood was as happy -and stimulating as the sunshine sparkling in the December air. - -Turning down a street, we passed a church from which the worshipers -were emerging, and a mother with two sons on the brink of manhood held -our attention for a moment. The lads had a gentleness of feature, an -unconscious grace that sometimes is the attribute of adolescence, and -their mother walked between them, proudly--they were her masterpieces. -For some time Norman chatted amiably, but I could see that a pensive -shadow was steadily creeping over the brilliancy of his spirits. - -"They tell me," he said in subdued tones, breaking suddenly from the -topic in hand, "that both my parents hoped for a girl when I was born. -And sometimes I have thought that there is a little of the feminine in -my nature. I love the pretty things of life, and there are times when I -have an unmistakable sense of intuition." - -I waited silently, but it was some moments before he resumed. - -"Somewhere ahead," he said dreamily, "in months or years to come, I see -a vision of a woman in black, coming from church alone, and her head is -bowed with grief----" He passed his hand over his brow with a weary, -querulous movement, and shadows appeared beneath his eyes. -"Where--where are the two sons? Not dead?" - -He smiled wistfully and replaced his hand in my arm. - -"The picture we saw just now," he said, "is my conception of -England--the real England of noble mothers and noble sons. But -something tells me that the woman in black is England too, mourning for -her sons who will never--come back." - -With an effort he squared his shoulders and forced a laugh from his -lips. - -"Pest!" he cried, "I should be burned as a witch. Heigho! it's a pretty -go when one has to turn lugubrious on a Christmas morning. Cheer us up, -Pest. Tell me about yourself--whom you are in love with, and your -dreams for the days to come. Let's blow bubbles--shall we?--and see -what fresh beauties we can find in this charming adventure called -life!" - -And I laughed with him, exchanging philosophies light as air; but the -chimes that rang out all about us had still another meaning. There was -a warning in the pealing discords that broke on the quiet air; there -was a requiem in the notes that lingered like an echo, then murmured -ominously to silence. - -I shivered as though I had a chill, for something of Norman's spirit -had seized me, and I felt that both the warning and the requiem -were--for England. - - -VII - -At the head of a stairway which one reached by going through a -tobacconist's, Herr Klotz greeted us with guttural cordiality. We asked -after his wife, and were told that she was a little better, though very -weak, and had insisted upon seeing her guests before they left, if they -would be so kind as to visit the sickroom. - -On the contents of an enormous hamper sent from "Arcadia" (and, I am -certain, paid for by Norman) the German and the two of us lunched with -all the bonhomie of bohemians. Basil Norman was in the best of spirits, -so much so, in fact, that Klotz was constantly overcome with laughter, -and on three occasions was forced to rush away to acquaint his wife -"mit der amuzing veet of zee altogedderillustrious Herr Norman." - -By no means least in importance, Klotz's little son of about four years -of age sat in a high chair and chuckled knowingly whenever he deemed -the humor had reached a necessary climax. - -Though he was not unlike his father in the shape of his head, his chin -did not recede, and one could only assume the mother had supplied the -qualities lacking in the father. Never for a moment did the child lose -interest in the proceedings; he followed throughout the facial -expression and the play of conversation of his elders. His face -interested me so intensely that I found myself glancing at him whenever -his interest in the others gave me a chance; there was so much of -promise and heredity about him. - -"And what," I said, during a momentary lull in the merriment, "is -Master Siegfried to become?" We had learned his name a moment before. - -"Siegfried," said his father, "tell zee gentlemens vot you to be -already intend." - -The little chap smiled, but without self-consciousness. "A -conducthtor," he lisped, "like Herr Nikith." - -Klotz crossed his hands upon his ample waistcoat and beamed paternally. - -"Your baton bring," he said, "und der score _Tristan_." - -With profuse apologies for this display of juvenile precocity, the -violinist hurried after the boy, and reëntered a moment later with his -violin and a music-stand, which he proceeded to set up. - -Siegfried followed close on his heels with the full orchestral score of -the last act of _Tristan and Isolde_, which almost obscured him from -sight. Placing it on the stand, he retired in a dignified manner; and -Herr Klotz, taking a chair, seated himself at the left of the stand, -and proceeded to tune his fiddle to pitch, varying the proceedings with -imitations of French-horns, vagrant clarionets, and irresponsible -trombones in the mélange of discord which always precedes the entrance -of the conductor. Norman, who had been enjoying the scene to the full, -suddenly rose to his feet. - -"Herr Klotz," he said sternly, "I protest." - -The tuning ceased, and the violinist looked anxiously at his guest. -"You do not like dis, zumtimes?" he faltered. - -"I object," cried Basil, "to being left out.--Herr Siegfried!" He -raised his voice. "Herr Siegfried!" - -The little chap walked solemnly in, a baton in his hand. "Yeth?" he -said. - -"_Mein Herr_, my friend and myself desire to join your orchestra." - -The youthful conductor considered, ruminatingly. "You blay goot?" he -said. - -"Wonderfully. I was comb-and-tissue-paper-player in the Cascade Steam -Laundry Orchestra, and my friend----" - -"He ith goot alzo?" - -"Pest, speak for yourself." - -I shrugged my shoulders. "Far be it from me to brag," I said, rather -lamely, "but I was first violinist to His Majesty the King of -Diddle-doodledums." - -"Ah, yes," cried Norman; "and you were dismissed because of your -unfortunate habit of playing an octave flat." He leaned over and put -his lips to Siegfried's ear. "Let him play the drums," he said in a -stage whisper. - -Amidst roars of delight from the older Klotz, the youngster left the -room, and returned in a minute's time, carrying an immense tin dishpan -and a broken broom-handle, which musical impedimenta he entrusted to my -tender mercies, and then sedately stalked from the scene once more. -With mixed emotions I carried my pan and stick over to the extreme -right, and placed a chair beneath the spot where the stage-box would -be, calmly surveying the assumed audience with that look of waggish -melancholy one associates with gentlemen of the drums. Norman, whom -Klotz had armed with the combined ingredients of his instrument, placed -a chair halfway between the conductor's stand and myself, and together -we joined Herr Klotz in a two-minutes' orgy of discordant preparation. -With a desire to increase the variety of my percussion effects, I -conscripted an extra chair into service, placed it back towards me, and -prepared to use my cane as an auxiliary drumstick. - -By common consent we achieved a moment's unanimity of silence, which -was seized by Herr Siegfried as the auspicious moment for his entrance. -Without the least loss of dignity he clambered onto his chair, as we -applauded, perfunctorily, by hammering our alleged music-stands with -non-existent bows; and, turning to the audience, he bowed with the -restraint of genius--a feat of condescension which appeared to delight -the throng hugely, for he was constrained to turn about and acknowledge -their plaudits a second time before they would allow him to proceed. - -As drummer I assumed an air of morose boredom. - -The noise of the audience having subsided, the conductor opened his -score and nodded to his _Concertmeister_, Herr Klotz, who carefully -found the required place in the orchestration. - -"Blay der 'Liebestod' music," said he in his most professional manner -to us. We nodded knowingly, and found the required part in the last act -of our scores, after turning over a vast number of visionary pages. - -"Do we begin at the beginning?" asked Norman. - -"Yes," I answered, "and leave off at the end." After which sally I -laughed immoderately, and began to understand the instinct which causes -a humorist to enjoy his own wit more than any other's. - -A rap on the stand brought my mirth to a close. Both arms were extended -in the air--a last look at both sides of the orchestra (there must have -been a hundred of us)--the left hand slowly poised to indicate -"piano"--the right hand gently raised--and then the strings were -brought into action. I had intended, as another excellent jest, to give -a tremendous crash on the pan at the start, so as to bring down the -leader's wrath, but something in the little chap's attitude stopped me. -This was not play to him--it was real; and, to my amazement, it seemed -no less vivid to my fellow-burlesquers. Herr Klotz was playing the -chromatic development of the opening as if it had been Covent Garden -and the real Nikisch conducting. The Blower of Bubbles was giving one -more proof of his amazing versatility. In some manner he was imitating -a cello, and he _knew_ the music. Where he had learned it one could -only conjecture--but when did he learn anything? - -Silently I watched the serio-comic development. The boy was conducting -remarkably, with unerring artistry, sustaining the exact Wagnerian -_tempi_, and, with little exaggeration, indicating the crescendo -and diminuendo which colors all the great master's composition. How -much of it he knew or whether he was following his father's violin I -could not make out, but his earnestness fascinated me; and suddenly his -eyes turned towards mine. I gripped the broom-handle--but no, it was -merely a warning that my time was imminent. I think my breath came -short as I waited. Then his eyes sought mine once more, and inclining -towards me, his baton called for the drums. It was _I_ he was -conducting, and no one else! And I vibrated the broom-handle against -the dish-pan, only to stop instantaneously as his baton moved to -subtler instruments. He never failed to warn me with that preliminary -glance, and when the magic wand followed I gave him all I had. The -little beggar was a hypnotist. - -Towards the climax I could have sworn the whole orchestra was there. -Klotz was playing superbly, and Norman was roaming from one instrument -to the other with a remarkable combination of accuracy and imitative -versatility. As for me, I supplied dynamic effects that would have -satisfied even the great Beethoven, who once asked for guns. - -Then it was over. - -Herr Siegfried bowed twice to the audience, indicated his entire -orchestra with an all-embracing wave of the baton, and ended by -solemnly shaking hands with his father, who stood up to accept the -honor. After that, with a self-conscious wriggle, he became the boy -once more, and removed his spell from us. With roars of delight we -gathered about him, making a circle by joining hands, and dancing -extempore, we sang a chorus consisting of constant repetitions of -"Hilee-hilo! Hilee-hilo!" That may not be the correct spelling, but -then we were singing, not writing it--which is one advantage music has -over literature. - -Before we went, Herr Klotz took us into the room where his wife lay -ill, and by her eyes--for she was too weak to speak--she thanked us for -our part in making the day a festival one for their lonely little -household. With an instinctive gentleness that a woman might have -shown, Norman spoke of the things she wanted to hear about: how her -husband had been missed at the restaurant, of the desire of every one -to make a little present to them, of the great future that lay before -their son, and of the genius of Herr Klotz that would some day be -recognized. With the cheeriest of good-byes, he lightly touched her -shoulder with his hand and said he knew she would soon be well again. - -He lied. In half of what he said he lied. He was blowing bubbles that -the woman stricken with fever might see in them some little -compensation for her life of drudgery. - -With the guttural good wishes of Herr Klotz still in our ears (we had -pledged eternal friendship in three foaming mugs of beer), we sought -the street, to find that dusk was settling over the city. For some -moments neither spoke, but feeling that perhaps I had descended too -abruptly from my pedestal, I cleared my throat and ventured on a -remark. - -"A decent fellow," I said patronizingly, and felt my dignity -reasserting myself; but Norman failed to hear me. He was lost in some -memory. Now that I look back, I wonder was it the picture of the sick -woman he saw or his vision of the mother with her two sons; or, with -his gift of intuition, could he see, less than a year ahead, Klotz, in -a German soldier's uniform, marching through Belgium with an army of -lust and rapine, gorged like gluttonous, venomous beasts? - -I wonder. - - -VIII - -It was from an aunt of mine that I first heard of Norman's attachment -to Lilias Oxley. - -Whenever I received a letter from my relative, I had first to realize -that its mission was to educate, not to entertain. She was a woman of -strong ideas, and, as my mother died very early in my life, she seldom -lost an opportunity of impressing a moral--like the Queen in _Alice -in Wonderland_. In her correspondence, and to a large extent in her -conversation, my aunt was given to dashes, underlines, and -exclamation-marks. It is perhaps unnecessary to state that she was a -single woman. - -I received the letter two months after Christmas; it was dated from the -Beacon at Hindhead. - - "MY DEAR NEPHEW,--You will find mentholated crystals--carried in a - small bottle--a splendid preventive against the present epidemic of - cold in the head! Sniff a little every night before going to bed. - - "When are you going to marry? For goodness' sake, marry a _dark_ - girl when you do. Our family is growing positively colorless! - - "Your friend, Mr. Norman, is visiting the Oxleys down here. It - seems young Oxley is trying to write a play with some ideas in it, - and Norman thinks he can help him! Who in the world wants to see a - play with _their_ ideas! It's a pity you couldn't teach him to do - something useful--Norman, I mean.--Young Oxley is going into the - Church! Why doesn't he go to Canada! I mean _Norman_. - - "Do you remember little Lilias Oxley? She had pneumonia last year, - though I _warned_ her mother about flannel soaked in goose-oil and - turpentine! She always looked like a hothouse flower, and now she - is simply _frail_. Of course, she's pretty and has eyes that always - makes fools of the men--not that _that_ signifies! Everybody says - she's artistic, but all I ever hear her play is by some newfangled - foreigner named Debussy, and it's all discord. She's only nineteen - and looks sixteen. - - "Of course, young Norman comes along, and instead of picking out - some healthy _buxom_ girl, he falls in love with this bit of tinsel - china! It's criminal, and should not be _allowed_. What kind of - children will they have, if any! He calls her his - _Beatrice_--Heaven knows why! - - "They are together _constantly_. I would write to the _Times_ about - it if I thought that Lord Northfellow would publish it. We should - have a Minister of _Eugenics_! Surely Winston Churchill would be - better employed at that than trying to build up a huge navy we'll - never need! By the way, I see he's taken to writing _novels_ now! - - "Do talk to young Norman! Tell him your uncle is doing very well - with pigs in Canada; and why not induce your friend to go _there_, - and get some _common-sense_, because every Canadian I meet has a - head on his shoulders? It must be the climate! - - "I am going to stay here for a month, and then visit my cousin in - Scotland. She has six children. Whatever induced her to marry a - minister? He has no money and no _prospects_--except more children, - I suppose! - - "Does that Mulvaney woman see that your room is kept aired? When - you write you should have the window open and a cap on your head. - - "I hope you will never write books! It is quite a _distinction_ - nowadays not to. - - "Where did you go for Christmas?--Your loving aunt, - - "HANNAH. - - "Feby. 8/1914." - -The only way I can account for my aunt's love of exclamation-marks was -her delight at seeing a sentence round to a good finish. I have known -authors to be so overcome with the dramatic significance of their work -that they put them in as a sort of public recognition thereof. - -_En passant_.... I wonder why my aunt never wrote a serial story -for one of the London dailies. - - -IX - -War. - -Our world of artificiality lay like a cracked eggshell. As drowning -men, we clutched at everything that seemed stable ... to find nothing -that was not made of perishable stuff. Our pens that had criticized so -long mocked us as we gazed at the pages which seemed to reject our -thoughts before we gave them life. A few of us turned into special war -writers and comforted the nation with statistics. We showed that -Germany was beaten--it was a mathematical truth that could be proved. -While we demonstrated our immense superiority to the enemy in figures, -a little British Army was fighting against odds of six to one. - -And the Fates stood by with poised shears, ready to cut the thread of -Britain's destiny. - -It is not pleasant to recall the arraignment of the year 1914. The Boer -War had shown our weakness to every nation but ourselves; our educated -men had graduated into the world using their abilities as -obstructionists. We had discouraged everything that had the very odor -of progress. - -Yet--we muddled through. Men still use that word as if it were -something creditable instead of hideous. We won, because, behind the -Britain that muddled and obstructed, there was the Britain of noble -mothers and noble sons. - -And into the first winter our orgy of statistics went on, like an -endless Babylonian feast ... while the British fleet--which we should -never need--strained and plunged in the icy gales of the North Sea, -grimly, silently, saving the world for Civilization. - -Great days. Fateful days. Terrible days. - -One Friday night early in December I received a note from Norman, -asking me to meet him for dinner at "Arcadia." I had not seen him for -six months, but his debonair charm was as potent as ever, and we -chatted of the past like friends who had not met for years. As if by -mutual consent, we avoided the present until I noticed that the -orchestra was different. - -"Where is Klotz?" I asked suddenly. - -"Gone." - -"Where?" - -"To the war. He was a German reservist and got away." - -"And his wife?" - -"She is confined to her bed all the time, but fortunately there is an -excellent woman looking after her and young Siegfried. By the way, what -a conductor he'll make some day!" - -By the subterfuge I knew who was paying for the woman, though his -income was always slender. Stimulated by a British-born orchestra that -played with a respectability beyond question, we pursued bubbles of -conversation for half-an-hour, saying many clever things and arriving -at no conclusions; but both of us knew that, behind the badinage, there -was the consciousness of war gripping our brains like a fever. - -"What do you think," I said at last, "of the question of enlisting?" It -would have been a mockery to deny the fever any longer. - -"Why should I enlist?" His smile was so disarming that I regretted my -move at once. - -"Don't misunderstand me," I said hastily. "You are not needed, and you -never will be. Besides----" My voice trailed off into the insincere -platitudes that always come to the lips when conscience is to be -drugged. - -He lit a cigarette. "Pest," he said, "most men are participants in -life; a few, like myself, are onlookers. It was my choice when I was a -mere youngster--wisely or not, I do not know--but the pose has become -reality now. I am a jester at the court of the world, a wordy fellow -with a touch of melancholy in his humor, watching and commenting on the -real things of life. Before there was a war I blew bubbles, and now I -am fit for nothing else. Have a cigarette?" - -"Thanks." - -He passed his hand across his brow with the same weariness I had -noticed before. - -"To gaze on life," he went on after a pause, "and not to live it, -spares one many sorrows. Even love, which comes to most men as an -overwhelming passion, stole into my life like a perfume of Cashmere. -When I was twelve years of age and living on the south coast, I used to -pass a little dream-girl of seven years or so. The purity of her face -stayed with me like a melody a mother sings to her child. Then she was -ill, and for three weeks I never saw her. Finally she came one day in a -chair, and her beauty was the most exquisite thing I had ever seen. It -made me think that the God who gave us this beautiful world sometimes -cherishes a soul as sweet as hers and keeps it in a body that is frail, -so that through life He can watch it like a flower, tenderly, -lovingly;... and when He wants it back again He has but to whisper, -and, like a violet bending to a summer breeze, it hears and obeys.... I -have sometimes thought that even tears shed for such a one have in them -the quality of dew, and serve to keep the memory green and pleasant. - -"The next day I brought her a rose. Though we had never spoken, she -took it, and gave me her face to kiss.... I lost my mother when I was -very young, but this dream-girl's kiss supplied that inspiration for -the ideal that a child takes from its mother. I could not have been -impure after that--I could not have been unkind. The next day she was -gone, and I never saw her again until I went to Surrey to visit young -Oxley. She was his sister." - -"And you found?" - -"That the dream-child had become a woman--the charm of Spring had -softened to the witchery of Summer." - -He shrugged his shoulders and relit his cigarette, which had gone out. - -"That, my dear Pest, is how love came to me." - -I frowned in an endeavor to pierce his apparently superficial dismissal -of the subject. - -"Don't you intend to marry her?" I said. - -"Marry her?" He laughed, but there was little mirth in the sound. "Does -a jester marry?" His eyes hardened, and there was a new ring to his -voice. "Who am I to take a wife? A _poseur_, a _flâneur_, in a world of -men, I stand discredited beside the poorest workman whose toil brings -in a pittance for his wife and kiddies. England is calling for men--for -men, I say." He brought his fist with a crash on the table. "What can I -offer her--my parlor accomplishments? My minstrel's mummery that -shudders at the sight of a sword? Can I blow bubbles in a world where -hearts are breaking?" - -There were tears in his voice, but his eyes were flashing furiously. - -"Hexcuse me." A man had stepped up to us, wearing the armlet of a -recruit. His face was oddly familiar, but I could not recall it until a -light was switched on just behind him, and I recognized the -pumpkin-faced man of Christmas Eve. - -"I just thought of 'ow I'd like for to tell you as I've been took for -the Army O.K." - -We shook his hand and wished him the best of luck. - -"Funny thing, sir, as 'ow the 'ole bloomin' time I was planning to sign -hup I was a-thinkin' of you and that there fiddle. 'You wouldn't like -to meet 'im,' I kind o' sez to myself, 'and you not in the harmy, you -wouldn't,' I sez." - -"Instead of which," smiled Norman, all trace of his intensity gone, "I -am the one who is the slacker." - -"But didn't I see you in the line the day we was going for to join -hup?" - -Norman laughed. "I was probably a hundred miles away," he said. "Pest, -have I a double?" - -The recruit scratched his head. "I could 'a sworn hit was you," he -said, and launched into a graphic description of drill and the -absurdities thereof, a recital which appeared to have no prospect of an -ending until we were interrupted by the restaurant proprietor, who took -Norman to one side for a consultation concerning the medieval cook. - -I felt a hand on my arm and turned to see our friend of the pumpkin -face making secret and terrifying signs for me to lend him my ear. - -"'E's a-'iding something," he whispered hoarsely. "I ain't been a -chandlery merchant hall my life, wot does most o' 'is business hon -tick, without hit learning me to remember faces. Hit _were_ 'im. -'E was turned down for a bad 'eart!" - -Whereupon he made a semi-mystic sign with his thumb and forefinger to -indicate that the whole affair was a secret between gentlemen. - -That night, in bed, the sensitive, delicate features of Basil Norman -remained in my memory. I had surprised his secret which he would admit -to no one; not to the girl he loved; not to himself. It was the same -spirit that had made him defy the whole of Westminster. We had called -him Puck and the Blower of Bubbles, and he himself had said he was -lighter than air.... But Basil Norman's life had been one endless -battle with an indomitable soul that refused to yield to the body. - -I could not sleep well that night. - - -X - -I did not meet Basil Norman for nearly four years. I joined the -Artists' Rifles early in 1915, fought for eleven months, and was given -a commission. After a short time in England I went out in all the glory -of a Sam Browne and one star, but in a few months I was wounded in the -chest, which earned me Blighty and a surfeit of Aunt Hannah, who still -contended that had we only concentrated on an _army_ instead of a -_navy_---- - -As I write, it all seems a blurred memory of colorless monotony, mud, -fatigue, death, and grim humor. In January, 1918, after a term of duty -as musketry instructor, I returned to France, and fought through the -horrible spring battles until, with cruel coincidence, I was wounded -again in the same place, and once more came to England with a bullet in -my chest--a bullet they dared not extract. In September I was -discharged. - -One morning in November I sat by the fire in my den at Sloane Square. I -had resumed the tenancy of the rooms, and Mrs. Mulvaney looked upon me -as being even less mature than before, warning me about goloshes when -it was wet, and umbrellas when it wasn't, but appeared likely to be. - -How long I sat there I do not know, but memory began to weave its -spell, driving my surroundings into a dim obscurity and bringing back -incidents of the past with vivid clarity. I gripped my head with both -hands, and, for the hundredth time, sought the truth that lay buried in -the holocaust of the nations.... My wound hurt again, and a dizziness -crept over me like a fog that rises from the sea and enshrouds the -land. - -Futile.... Futile.... - -Had some one spoken? The words sounded distinctly.... I could have -sworn I heard them. - -Was the whole war a dream, or was it real? Once more I was in Sloane -Square; there was my desk with its litter of papers, my pipe-rack, my -books.... Had I ever left them? Could it be true that I had led men -against machine-gun fire--and that I had killed? Were those boys who -died beside me, smiling like children in their sleep, really dead? Was -it all some hideous fantasy of an unhealthy brain--a gigantic charade -invented by the greatest buffoon of all time? - -Futile.... Futile.... Futile. - -I cursed, and pressed my brow with my hands. It was a fight for sanity, -as so many men have fought in the solitude of their rooms since the -hell of Flanders. - -Like a panorama the events of the war crossed my mind, and yet those -that stood out most clearly were the unimportant things that came as -mere incidents during the unfolding of the world's destiny. The senior -chaplain's dog, which was shot by an A.P.M. and mourned by a whole -division ... the new arrival who thought he was a special charge of the -Lord's, and who persisted in looking over the top during the day--we -buried him next morning ... the night that the female impersonator from -a divisional concert-party lured the colonel into amorous confession -... the little chap who got no mail at Christmas, and said he hadn't -received a letter for two years ... one after the other these human -trivialities coursed through my brain, forcing the vaster issues aside. - -From no apparent cause, the strain of reminiscence turned toward Basil -Norman. I had seen him somewhere, but whether in London or in the -country my poor tired brain seemed unable to determine. And then, with -no regard for relevancy, I was with my battalion once more, marching -with the Australians to hold a strategical point that one of our -brigades had saved from the disaster of March. Who was it said that the -Australians lacked discipline? Look at them grinning like youngsters at -a game, with the odds against any coming out alive! Discipline? Hell! - -We rested at a cross-roads and smoked; one of our Tommies was singing -the refrain of a song that urged the country to call up all his -relations, even his father and his mother, but "for Gawd's sake" not to -take him. The sublime incongruity of it was so thoroughly British that -we laughed and called for a repetition. A few minutes later the -Australians passed us, going forward, and there was a reckless air of -bravado about them that boded ill for the Hun. - -We waited an hour, two hours--perhaps more. - -By Jove! Coming around the bend in the road was the brigade that had -held the line. Good work, you chaps! Well done! Bravo! That's it, you -fellows; give them a cheer! Beneath the mud and the dust and the -beards, they were livid with fatigue; the skin beneath their eyes had -dropped, and their jaws hung impotently, like those of idiots. There -wasn't a sound from their ranks as, too weary to lift them, they -dragged their feet through the dust of the road. They had held their -position for fifty-six hours, attacked incessantly from three sides by -overwhelming numbers. Damned good, you fellows; damned good! - -Still buffeted by imagination, my memory of the scene seemed to fade; -yet one impression lingered that was both livid and blurred. It was -when that brigade, or what was left of it, had almost passed, and we -were tightening up the straps of our kits, that I caught a glimpse of -his face, or that of a man who could have passed as his twin. The -soldier beside him was limping painfully and leaning on him heavily in -an endeavor to keep up, and beneath the grimy pallor of that face I -could see the old wistful, whimsical smile.... I tried to cry out, but -something stuck in my throat, and next moment we were falling in. - -It was Basil Norman, and the lame soldier beside him was the man with a -face like a pumpkin. Either that or my brain had become the plaything -of fancy. - -Again my memory became a blank, and for a few minutes everything seemed -obscured. Some one was shouting! It was taken up by another, then by -many--the whole air was filled with noise.... I heard a woman's voice. -Good God! Had the Germans broken through?... "_Steady, men--get your -aim first._"... The shouting grew in intensity, and I pressed my -brow with my hands until the marks stood out like wounds. With a cry as -of an animal in pain, I rose to my feet and shook the shadows from my -eyes. There was my room--the smoldering fire--my chair ... but the -shouting--it was louder than before. - -Feeling my reason tottering, I crossed to the window and threw it open. -People were running, and crying some word as they ran; one woman wept -openly, and no one heeded her; a taxi passed crowded to the roof with -hatless, gesticulating enthusiasts. Was the whole world mad? From every -direction came the noise of deep-throated shouting, swelling into a -vast _Te Deum_ of sound. A soldier with one foot leaned against a -lamp-post and rested his muscles from their labor with the crutches. - -"Hello!" I cried. The khaki seemed to restore my grip on things. "I -say--hello!" - -He turned round and hobbled over to my window. "Wot's the trouble?" he -said. - -"This shouting," I cried; "these people running like rabbits. What does -it all mean?" - -"Wot! don't you know?" He smacked his lips in appreciation of the -surprise he had in store for me. "Why, Fritz 'as took the count, 'e -'as." - -"Then,----" Confound it; what made my lips quiver so? "Then--it's -peace?... You mean ... it's peace?" - -He nodded half-a-dozen times. "The war," he said, feeling the -importance of his declaration, "is napoo. Kaiser Bill 'as 'opped the -twig, and the hold firm of 'im and Gott is for sale, with the goodwill -thrown in, I _don't_ think." - -I leaned out of the window, and we grasped hands. - -Futile.... Futile.... Futile. - -No--by Heaven, no! Not while we remember our dead; not while the spirit -of comradeship still lives in the breasts of those who went out there; -never, if the Britain of the future is worthy of her knights of the -greatest crusade of all, and of the mothers who gave that which had -sprung from their very heart-beats. - -"_Out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a -child or a star there is pain._" - -Half-mad with joy, I rushed into the street and urged my hospitality on -the mutilated soldier, who came into my den and took a seat by the -fire, while I fetched a decanter and cigars that we might make the -occasion a jovial one. As I came into the room I noticed that he was -examining me curiously. - -"Hexcuse me," he said, "but if I may make so bold--wasn't you 'is pal?" - -"Good heavens!" I cried, a light bursting upon me. "You're the man with -a face like a--like a----" I suppose I blushed. - -"Don't 'esitate," he grinned. "Many a time over there 'e told me you -called me Pumpkin-Fice,' and, beggin' your pardon, sir, I likes it a -sight better than 'Pest.'" - -"Then--it was Norman I saw in March?" - -"Ay." He sipped his glass meditatively. "'E lied about 'is 'eart, and -was took O.K. late in 'fifteen. 'E was a ranker like the rest of us, -but 'e was a proper gentleman, 'e was--that is, not just like we -hunderstands the word in Hengland, but a _real_ gentleman. 'E never -preached and 'e never whined, but them two heyes just kept twinklin', -and whenever hany of us was a bit windy, 'e 'd sort of buck us hup by -that there smile 'e 'ad. I ain't much on langwidge, not 'avin' no -eddication to speak of, or I'd hexplain better; but when little Sawyers -got 'is from a sniper, and 'e knew 'is ticket was punched for to go -West, the sergeant says, 'Fetch the padre,' but Sawyers 'e says, 'No, -it's Bubbles I want.'... I ain't much on religion neither, and I've -done a 'eap o' filthy swearin', which I guess is all down agin me in -the book; but wherever Bubbles is goin' is good enough for me, whether -it's brimstin and blazes or hangels playin' 'arps." - -"Tell me"--I dreaded the answer to the question--"where is he now?" - -"'E's took a cottage hover in the Hisle o' Wight," he said, clearing -his throat and speaking slowly, "and 'e's married to the sweetest -creetur I ever saw houtside a book. Blime! after I gets hout o' -'ospital, me not 'avin' any hold woman of my own, 'e finds me hout and -sends a letter sayin' to go there for my convalessings, which likewise -I did. That's 'is haddress on the top of that there letter." - -I took the paper from his hand, but kept my eyes on his face; he was -keeping something from me. "Tell me the truth about him," I said, and -waited. - -He shifted uneasily in his chair. "'E got a blighty near 'is 'eart," he -said, making a supreme effort, "and 'e'll never get hup from 'is chair -no more." - - -XI - -The packet for the Isle of Wight threaded its way through the traffic -of incoming vessels, and ran by a cruiser that had just come from the -bloodless Trafalgar of German shame, where the second navy of the world -surrendered without a fight. - -A man next to me grunted. "It's all right for us to crow," he said; -"but Germany was beaten, and she did the right thing." - -I looked at him--he was quite sincere. His hair was unduly long, and he -carried a manuscript case--probably one of the statistical writers -still going strong. - -"In your wildest flights of imagination," I said, "even if the combined -fleets of the world were against him, could you picture Beatty leading -the British Navy out to surrender?" - -"Supposing he were ordered?" - -As if in answer to his question, our course took us by the hull of the -_Victory_, straining at her moorings in the November wind. - -"In that case," I said, "Beatty would have had two blind eyes." - -Which was the sum total of our conversation until we landed at Ryde, -when our paths diverged, never, I hope, to meet again. Probably, over -the week-end, he was polishing up some powerful articles on the -absurdity of Reconstruction. - -By the time the train had reached the little station of St. Louis, just -beyond Ventnor, the wind had blown away any clouds, and the sun was -shining radiantly. As I emerged from my carriage I felt a throb of -exhilaration shoot through my veins, but depart as quickly as it had -come, when I realized how near was the tragedy which I had soon to -witness. I heard my name spoken, and, turning, saw a ruddy-faced, -storm-blown fellow of fifty odd years, whose whole bearing smacked of -nor'-westers and mizzen-tops. When I admitted to my name, he seized my -bag without a word, and started down the road with the swaying motion -peculiar to mariners. - -We had hardly gone any distance, when he stopped at a gate which proved -to be the back entrance to a garden, and following him through it, I -was led along a path which was strewn with leaves in all the wealth of -autumnal coloring, while through the trees there was the deep blue of -the sea, flecked with crests of foam. We had gone about fifty yards -when we came upon a cottage, in front of which, on a promontory, was a -neatly trimmed lawn, guarded by six trees that stood like sentinels. -The lower branches had been cut to give a better view, and their -appearance lent a quaintly tropical look to the place, as if they were -palms. In front of the house, fields sloped gradually to the edge of -the cliff, which overlooked the sea beneath. - -"My dear old Pest!" - -Against the background of trees I had failed to notice him sitting in -an invalid's chair. In three strides I was by his side, his hands in -mine ... but no words came to my faltering lips. For a moment the gray -of his eyes softened to a look of understanding; then the old smile, -just as charming as ever, irradiated his face. - -"This is an event," he said, "to be entered in the log.--Sindbad!" - -The ex-seaman who had acted as my guide pulled at his forelock. - -"Ay, ay, cap'n!" - -"Take this gentleman's things to the guestroom upstairs." - -"The cabin to starboard? Werry good, cap'n." - -Heavens! such a voice! There were fog, gale, piracy, rum, and combat in -it. - -"Sindbad," said Norman, in answer to my look, "is one of my -indiscretions--like 'Arcadia.' He turned up here one day with such a -tale of the sea as would have shamed Robert Louis Stevenson at his -best. So far as I can discover, he has been in every naval fight since -Aboukir Bay. He's a bit hazy on the Jutland scrap, but hints darkly at -the possibility of an invasion by Spain. He is convinced that the -_Armada_ is only hiding and waiting its time." - -In spite of myself, I laughed. - -"As he refused to go, I decided to employ him as a man-of-all-work, -and, as he appeared to have forgotten his own name, I gave him that of -'Sindbad,' which pleased him as much as me. As a result of my engaging -him, the lawn you stand on is the quarter-deck which he never fails to -salute. As nearly as I can discover, we are sailing a perpetual -voyage--you see by this view that the illusion is possible--and we're -living in the imminent danger and hope of an attack by the Spanish. By -the way, old man, would you rather go upstairs and clean up? Are you -cold sitting there? Sometimes, being so comfortable myself, I forget -all about my guests." - -I protested, sincerely, that I was quite contented where I was. - -"Good!" he smiled. "Now tell me all about London.... I see you were hit -twice. From more than a dozen sources I've heard how splendid you were -in France." - -His voice was so bright, with its old, happy mannerism of rapidity of -words, with the occasional slurring rallentando, and his gaiety so -infectious, that, under his influence, I felt the clouds about my brain -lifting--not only those caused by grief for his helpless condition, but -those born of my own black moods which drove sleep from my eyes for -nights at a time. I had come determined to be cheerful and to bring -encouragement to the invalid, but already I was drinking in the elixir -of his spirit and feeling my arteries throb with a kind of ecstasy. His -charm was more potent than before. - -For a few minutes we chatted about France and the old Westminster boys -who had won renown. We talked of many things, and laughed to find that -we were still boys. - -"By the way," he said, during a momentary lull in the stream of -reminiscence, "I must apologize for my wife. She is doing some -necessary shopping in Ventnor, but will be back by the next train." - -"I heard you were married," I said, but got no further. Delicacy -forbade my asking him how his dream of love had become a reality. He -must have read the question in my eyes, however, for he offered me his -cigarettes, which, with him, was always a prelude to a change in the -tone of conversation. - -"I did not write to her after I went to France," he said quietly, -"because ... well, I've spoken to you before of my sense of -intuition--and I knew that mine would be a heavy price to pay. It was -not fair to fasten her with a life none too robust at its best, because -of a love-fantasy between two children. When I was hit, and they broke -the news to me that--that this was to be my luck, the one thing that -comforted me was the thought that she was free and would not have to -share my captivity. By-the-by, Pest, isn't the sea fascinating? It is -never the same for two days together." - -He was still a Puck, lightening his moods whenever they threatened to -hurt the listener with their intensity. - -"Pest," he said, after a pause, "she came to me.... When everything was -dark, and I was groping blindly for some hand that would start me just -a--a little on my path, she came--out of the mists. I urged her to -leave me. I argued that she was not fair--and for answer she kissed -me.... Pest, it was a moment of such exquisite happiness, a happiness -so poignant, that I wish I could have died then. I was never so fit for -heaven." - -The figure of Sindbad appeared from the house, tugged at its forelock, -and disappeared into the garden to trim some shrubs. - -"How did you happen to come here?" I asked. - -"I had always looked on the island," he said, smiling, "as the only -spot in England where a twentieth-century Robinson Crusoe could find a -sanctuary from the world, and, by the courtesy of the gentleman who -owned the place, I was able to purchase it at a ridiculously low price. -As a matter of fact, he was offered twice the amount quoted to me, but -refused because I was a disabled Tommy. We came here strangers, but -really the kindness of every one is so great that the ordeal is turning -into a privilege. You have no idea, Pest, how extraordinarily -sympathetic and courteous these people are." - -"I suppose, though," I said softly, "that it is rather--lonely." - -"Lonely?" he laughed. "Bless your heart, old boy! talk about a French -savant and his _salon_--this place is a positive Mecca for all the -distinguished pilgrims on the island. For instance, there is the editor -of the _Tribune_--a man who thinks editorially and talks colossally. -He claims that any one who has read Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, -Cervantes' _Don Quixote_, and Carlyle's _French Revolution_ is -educated. He never reads anything else, but keeps on reading these -three in an endless cycle. We have perfectly stupendous arguments that -never get anywhere, but utterly exhaust both of us. Then there's the -station-master. How many passengers boarded the train here when you -were coming off?" - -"Four, I think." - -"Ah, yes; this is Saturday--a busy day. Some trains we don't get any, -and others just one or two; but in anticipation of a rush at some -future date, he's invented a scheme of getting tickets out of a drawer, -stamped and all complete, by merely pressing a button. I assure you -it's going to revolutionize the booking systems of the world--we've -been working on it for weeks, but so far all we've got is the button. -The plans are prodigious, though. And the Tommies! Gor blime, Pest! -there's a convalescent home just down the road, and it's a queer day -that at least two of the beggars don't come up for a 'jaw' about old -times. You talk about your officers' messes and brass hats; why, it's -real life in the ranks. I tell you, Pest, I would rather be the man -that coined the word 'Cheerio' than the greatest general the world has -seen." - -A merchant-ship, still wearing its strange motley of camouflage, sailed -past only a couple of miles from shore. - -"Look!" whispered Norman, and pointed down the garden. - -Sindbad was crouched behind some bushes, surveying the vessel through a -dilapidated telescope. After a careful scrutiny, he resumed his labors, -shaking his head and muttering darkly to himself. - -Norman chuckled hilariously. "He's on the look-out for Spaniards," he -said. - -"What a villainous telescope!" - -"Isn't it? He always has it by him, though. I'll swear you can't see -half-a-mile with the blessed thing." - -A huge black hound appeared from the direction of the conservatory, -and, after the canine manner, expressed his wriggliest delight at the -sight of Norman, ending by sitting solemnly beside the chair and laying -one paw on the invalid's knee. - -"Good-afternoon, Mr. Jones," said Norman. - -The dog thumped the ground four times with his tail, and emitted a yawn -like the sound of a train emerging from a tunnel. - -"Mr. Jones," said I, "changes from cordiality to ennui with rather -startling rapidity." - -The hound acknowledged his name by a solitary thump, and then groaned -with the air of a Stiggins contemplating the wickedness of a Weller. - -"What breed is he?" I asked. - -"Dog--just dog. He is, if I may say so, the battle-ground of his -ancestors. Every breed but that of bull can be traced in him, and each -has its moment of ascendancy. Mr. Jones possesses a most remarkable -hereditary system." - -The subject of our conversation became suddenly tense. A bird had -hopped on to the quarter-deck, and was pecking at the ground in a -manner that would infuriate any self-respecting dog. - -Gathering up his loins, Mr. Jones stalked the intruder to within four -yards, and then fell in a heap on the spot--where the bird had been. -After surveying the landscape with a puzzled air, as if to indicate to -us that foul work was afloat, he walked to the end of the lawn and -gazed thoughtfully at the sea. Having thoroughly demonstrated his -indifference as to whether he ever caught a bird or not, he yawned -terrifically, and left the scene for the comfort of the kitchen. - - -XII - -And so, partly with banter, but with many moments that were tense with -feeling, we talked while the afternoon wore on. Norman was in the midst -of some anecdote of either Sindbad or Mr. Jones, when he paused, and a -look of delighted anticipation lit his countenance. - -"That's the whistle," he said. "The train's right on time to-day." He -sighed happily, as a lover about to meet his sweetheart after a long -absence. - -"Sindbad," he cried, "pipe all hands to tea. Tell Mrs. M'Gillicuddy -we'll have it in the music-room." - -Telescope under his arm, the worthy buccaneer--for I am convinced he -sailed under Captain Kidd--shuffled into the house, and the noise of -the train could be distinctly heard as it emptied its crowd of one or -two at the little station. - -"I shall go and open the gate," I said, but he stopped me. - -"He is with her, Pest." - -"Who?" - -"Wait.... I have kept a surprise for you." - -A minute later I saw his wife at the end of the path as she waved to -him. She came through the leafy garden with a grace of movement that -made the scene a delicate, colorful picture, and even before she had -reached us I could see that her beauty was as exquisite, as perfect, as -an orchid's. All sacrificed to an invalid.... - -With the tenderest of smiles in her eyes, which were blue as the sky, -she advanced towards us and kissed him; and I, who detest things -sentimental as I would the plague, thought it was the loveliest tribute -I had ever seen. Before he could speak, she turned and gave me both her -hands. - -"I won't apologize," she said, and her voice was as sweet as a brook's, -"because I know you both enjoyed your talk of old times the better for -my absence." - -"It was a wonderful afternoon," I said, "but it would have been doubly -so with you here." - -And then I, the Pest, the cynic, the modernist, stooped and kissed her -hand. It seemed the natural thing to do, and she accepted it with the -understanding heart that Nature had given her. - -"But, Lilias, where is the lad?" - -"Oh," she laughed gaily, "the station-master kept him a moment to show -him an entirely new button he had thought of. But here he is now." - -Coming up the path, carrying a couple of parcels, was a boy of, -perhaps, ten years of age. His hair was golden and curly, and his eyes -had a dreamy look that contrasted strangely with the strength of his -chin. He had the poise and the appearance of a thoughtful, well-bred -youth; but there was something, I could not say what, that told me he -was not English. - -He touched his cap to me as he came on the lawn and smiled cordially to -Basil. - -"Do you remember the gentleman?" asked Norman. - -The boy shook his head and unconsciously moved nearer to the woman, who -placed her hand on his shoulder. - -"You shouldn't forget each other," laughed Norman, "for once he played -the drums under your baton." - -A few minutes later we went in for tea, the boy and Mrs. Norman going -first. I waited while Sindbad prepared to move the invalid, and then -turned to him for an explanation. - -"Klotz was killed," said Norman swiftly, "and his wife died a month -later, after she heard of his death. We have adopted Siegfried as our -ward." - - -XIII - -That night a storm came up from the sea, and the house rattled and -shook in the clutch of a November gale. The trees that looked like -palms swayed and bent before the wind, and the many-colored leaves in -the garden fled like refugees before an attack, and covered the ground -with their quivering bodies. - -We were gathered in the music-room, the cosy warmth from a fire of logs -making pleasant contrast to the snarling wind outside. The evening had -been a memorable one. The woman whose beauty was so delicate had -charmed us with her voice, her playing; charmed us without effort or -knowing how. - -From a lounge, Norman's vivacity, which always had in it the quality of -sympathy, illuminated everything that happened. When she sang a little -extract of the eighteenth century, "_Bergère Légère_," it was he -who knew that it had been a favorite of Marie Antoinette's. When she -played the love theme which Puccini gives the strings in the first act -of _Madame Butterfly_, it was Norman who, by a dozen deftly chosen -words, created the atmosphere of Japan and brought before us the cruel -tenderness of Pinkerton's love for Cho Cho San. After Siegfried had -played MacDowell's conception of "Mid-ocean," Norman recalled in a -moment the genius of America's greatest composer, the genius that had -finally crossed the thin barrier to insanity. From that we talked of -the sea, while the wind howled outside, and I spoke of the many moods -of blue that colored it in a single day, and, without giving the effect -of quotation or of monologue, he brought his artistry into play with -three lines of Keats's sonnet "Blue." - -Whenever any of us spoke, his sensitive rhythmic intellectuality seemed -to hover about us, acknowledging thought where it struggled to the -surface, adding some subtle touch of color when our efforts seemed too -drab. Under its influence we talked our best, we thought our best, we -were our best. - -At nine o'clock Siegfried rose to go to bed, and advanced to shake -hands with me. - -"Well," I said, "and do you still intend to be a conductor?" - -He smiled a little self-consciously. - -"There is much to learn," he said, "and--I do not want to leave my -home." - -Norman lit a cigarette--his old mannerism when emotions were taut. - -"Parents," he said, "and quasi-parents like us, march straight towards -loneliness. Our greatest concern is to have our children ready to leave -us as soon as they hear the call of the world, knowing that such a -moment will be the proudest and the saddest of our lives." - -"Good-night," said Siegfried to me. "Goodnight, Uncle Bubbles." He -turned wistfully to Mrs. Norman, who smiled and linked her arm in his. - -"Won't you come along?" she said to me. "Siegfried is very proud of his -room, and would like you to see it." It was her way of hiding her -knowledge that the little chap was frightened by the storm. So we saw -him safely in bed, and admired his books, and wished him pleasant -dreams. We had just left his room and were about to descend the stairs, -when we paused as the sound of rain beating against the house came to -our ears. We hurried about for a few moments seeing that all windows -were closed, and were going to rejoin Norman, when I stopped her. - -"Mrs. Norman," I said haltingly, "it is never easy for an Englishman to -express the emotion he feels, but may I tell you how touched I am by -your devotion to your husband? Without you, his life would -be--unbearable." - -She did not smile or protest, but her eyes looked straight into mine. - -"To live day by day," she said slowly, her fingers playing with a -necklace that hung about her full white throat, "near a soul like -Basil's, to commune with a brain like his ... to feel the inspiration -of his nature that is so in tune with the beauty of the world, is a -happiness few women can experience. If it were not too cruel, I could -feel thankful for his wound that has given him so completely to me." - -I stood by her on the creaking stairs as the rain swept in torrents -against the house, and her murmuring tones mingled with the sounds of -the storm. - -"Perhaps you cannot understand," she said gently, "but loving Basil as -I do, and having him dependent on me, is a selfish happiness that only -a woman could really know." - -And out of the night a truth came to me that, though it never, never -could be mine, the most precious thing in this world is a woman's -heart. - - -XIV - -It was eleven o'clock, and Basil Norman and I were alone. The storm had -subsided, and, through the sound of the rain, we could hear the waves -breaking against the shore. - -"I do not want Siegfried to go to school yet," he was saying; "he is so -full of promise and latent genius that I dread the risk of having it -all standardized into what we call a public-school man. I am coaching -him in languages and the three R's, but more than anything else I want -him to form his own conception of the scheme of the universe, so that -when he takes his position among the world's musicians--as I am -confident he will--he'll have the echo of what he interprets in his own -breast. Music is so vast, yet musicians, as a class, are people of -little depth." - -"Has the lad a chance in England with his German name?" - -"Yes. England must realize that genius has no nationality." - -"What was Siegfried like when you took him first?" - -"He was arrogant, sullen, and in his child's brain was the knowledge -that his father had fought against us. To make him forget his unhappy -past, and partly to satisfy a caprice of my own, I--well, you would say -I blew bubbles. We invented a little city of make-believe. From the -hill at the back of the house you can look down on all these houses, -and at dusk, when the mist rises from the sea and the windows begin to -glow with light, it is quaint enough for a study by Rackham. In our -little City of Bubbles there dwelt such celebrities as Aladdin, Jack -the Giant Killer, Midshipman Easy, Peter Pan, poor Wilde's Happy -Prince, and Heaven knows how many more. They were very real to -Siegfried and me, and Lilias used to have many a laugh over the -troubles of our little family. But I had not counted on Sindbad; he was -filling Siegfried with stories of buried treasure and men forced to -walk the plank (all of them absolutely authenticated by the narrator), -and the lurking Prussian began to appear. He stole down to Ventnor and -bought books on the war ... he began to glory in the stand Germany was -making. So I was not surprised when, one day, he suggested that we -should play soldiers. - -"Pest, you should have been there. Siegfried was Napoleon, and I was -Hindendorff, his chief of Staff. Sindbad was given command of a naval -brigade, and was also in charge of a large fleet lying in hiding to -cope with the Spaniard, should he emerge. In addition to these modest -duties, he had to wheel my chair. Lilias came along as a composite -representative of all the women's services. Napoleon's plans were that -we should attack the City of Bubbles, which was being defended by a -heavy force on the fringe of the hill. I omitted to mention our flying -cavalry in the person of Mr. Jones; but owing to a misunderstanding of -our objective he waged separate war on birds all afternoon, inflicting -no casualties, but covering an immense area of ground. We began the -attack about half-a-mile back; but when Napoleon ordered Sindbad's -naval brigade into action, we were unable to find him, until Mr. Jones -discovered him behind a rock, scrutinizing a passing merchantman -through the inevitable telescope. After some persuasion, we induced -Sindbad to attack, but half-way to his objective he remembered that he -had left his pipe in the kitchen, to which he repaired, leaving his -troops in the air, as we used to say in France, and taking away the -mobility which, as Chief of Staff, I needed urgently. There is no -question that Sindbad possesses imagination, but it is an unreliable -one. - -"To make the story short, we won by a brilliant ruse of Napoleon's, who -got word to the enemy that the tuck-shops in Ventnor were being -evacuated, which was as effective as his famous "_Sauve qui peut_" -at Waterloo, for they fled ignominiously, and we captured the city, -after inflicting heavy casualties." - -I looked at him and waited. Behind the nonsense I could see some -serious thought was lurking, but what I could not conjecture. - -"The next day," he resumed, "Siegfried was tired, and asked me to tell -how Peter Pan frustrated the pirates. 'Peter is dead,' said I. -Siegfried suppressed a sob, and asked when he died. 'He was killed in -our attack,' I said. After a long pause, he mentioned the probability -of Mr. Midshipman Easy being at home. 'He is dead,' said I. Again his -question, and again my answer: 'He was killed in our attack.' He went -out; but on going to bed that night he asked if Cinderella was really -very pretty. 'Not now,' I said, 'for she is lying dead.' Does it seem -ludicrous, Pest? That night he cried himself to sleep, and it is not -easy to listen to a youngster's sobs when you know that a word from you -will do away with them. For two long dreary weeks our City of Bubbles -was a City of the Dead.... Then I suggested that we play soldiers again -and make another attack. After all, Pest, it isn't every Tommy gets a -chance of being Chief of Staff. I wish you could have seen his face. It -was as though I had struck him with a whip, and he left me without a -word. That afternoon the Wizard of Oz visited our city and brought them -all back to life. That was some months ago, and our little dream-world -is only a serio-humorous memory for Siegfried and me now. But during -that night he cried himself to sleep I think the Prussian in him died." - -For several minutes we listened to the rain. - -"The greatest of the Arts," said Norman, very slowly, "is life. I don't -think our writers, our painters, our men who dream in bronze realize -that. If they did, it would not be said that the English are the least -artistic people in the world; for you and I know that is not true. -Scott going to his death in the Antarctic snow was a great artist. The -sailor standing to one side when the last boat is filled, and those six -Tommies at Grieswald in Germany, holding their ground against a row of -bayonets and taking a sentence of two years' imprisonment rather than -aid the Hun in making munitions--are they not artists? Where we fail as -a race is in our authors, composers, painters, who divorce themselves -from the real spirit of England and wonder that the products of their -brains quicken no pulse and stir no imagination. Our educationists, our -leaders in every movement allied with culture, have too often striven -to choke the imaginativeness and blind the eyes of our youth to the -beauty of life, which is one of its greatest truths. One has but to -read the despairing lines written by bereaved mothers for their sons -who have fallen, to feel the sorrow of England crying for expression; -instead of which, our triumph, our courage, our artistry are mute and -inarticulate." - -The rain had ceased, and the wind was moaning over the sea as if it had -been balked of its prey. - -"Mark my words, Pest," he said dreamily, "as a nation we shall have no -self-expression until our artists take for their model the greatest of -all Arts--_Life_." - -His eyes were fixed on the smouldering coals, and over his face there -was a mystic veil--a thing not of this world but born of the undying -spirit. It was like a mist that settles on a river in the hour between -sunset and night. - -"Basil," I cried; and the sound of my own voice startled me. I do not -know what words were surging to my lips, for he turned to me and the -smile of compassion in his eyes held me silent. - -Something choked in my throat.... I felt that I wanted to struggle to -my feet and stand at the salute. For the face that looked into mine was -that of a CONQUEROR. - -A burning ember fell from the grate and lay on the tiled surface of the -hearth. - - - - -PETITE SIMUNDE - - -I - -Three hundred miles north of Toronto, the Cobalt mining country -surrenders its daily toll of silver to the world. In that region there -is mostly rock. Where woods exist, the trees are gaunt and defiant, as -though resentful of the approach of man; in winter they stand like -white-shrouded ghosts, and the wind howls dismally through them until -in the little settlements across Lake Timiskaming men draw closer to -the fire, and women croon comfort to frightened children, yet -half-believe, themselves, the Indian legend that another soul is on its -way to the Great Unknown. - -Five miles north of Cobalt the town of Haileybury straggles down a hill -to the lake, on the other side of which can be seen the blue shores of -Pontiac, Quebec, where lies the sleepy little hamlet known as Ville -Marie, possessed of its church, its wayside public-house, "Les -Voyageurs," and a few vagabond frame buildings. The ring of the -blacksmith's anvil can be heard throughout the day, for there is little -else to drown the noise. But when the lumber-jacks come in from the -woods, or the river-runners from their convoys of logs, there is always -the sound of a noisy chorus from "Les Voyageurs," led (in the times we -write of) by Pierre Generaud, who knows that singing a constant -fortissimo stimulates thirst in participants and auditors alike. On -Sunday there is the sound of the organ, and the villagers walk about in -ill-fitting garments of respectability: a simple God-fearing community, -knowing no world but their own, and finding their joy of life in mere -existence. - -It was gathering dusk, one summer evening in the year 1914, when the -figure of a young officer wended its way towards "Les Voyageurs." - -He had crossed from Haileybury on the afternoon boat, causing not a -little comment by the uniform he wore. All in the mining country knew -him as "Dug" Campbell, manager of the Curran Like Mine--they were -hardly prepared for the sudden transition from his usual costume of -riding-breeches, brown shirt, and lumberman's boots, to the trappings -of a British officer. He was a young man of big stature, with broad, -restless shoulders that seemed to chafe under the bondage of a tunic, -and he had a long, loose-limbed stride oddly at variance with the usual -conception of military bearing. His eyes were light blue, his hair an -unruly brown that flirted with red--and his name was Campbell. Such men -do not wait for the second call when there is war. - -Wherever civilization is forcing her right of way, wherever she is -fighting for her existence, the descendants of Scotland will be found. -When a new railroad struggles over unnamed rivers and through untrodden -forests, somewhere ahead there is always a son or a grandson of old -Scotia, whose eyes are a humorous blue and whose hair has more than a -tinge of red. There is no part of the world to which the Scot is a -stranger, but he rises to his best in a new country where waterfalls -must be harnessed to give power; where great rocks must be blasted from -age-old foundations; where rebellious nature in her primeval state must -be taught that the world was made for man. - -On that August evening in that most fateful of years, the figure of -Captain Douglas Campbell, tall and somewhat rugged, like one of the -northern trees, might have served as a sculptor's model for the spirit -of Scotland confirming and strengthening the purpose of young Canada. - -Rich in tradition as she is, what glory of her past can Scotland have -that is greater than this--that, strong in the manhood which seems to -spring from the soil of her country, she sent her sons to every corner -of the world; and when the shadow of war fell upon her--they came back! -Sons, grandsons, those to whom their Scottish blood was little more -than a family legend, _they came back_. - -Scotland needs no other monument than those three words. - - -II - -Nearing "Les Voyageurs" the young officer paused at a sudden burst of -sound that came from the inn. In place of the usual chorus, one voice, -a slovenly but powerful one, was bellowing forth a ribald song, -remarkable only for its noisy coarseness. Reaching the hostelry, -Campbell hammered at the door, which was opened by mine host himself. - -"Ah!" he gesticulated eloquently, "Monsieur Cam-pell?" (Pierre -Generaud, like all French-Canadians, invariably reversed his accents on -English words.) "For why you come, eh?" - -"My dear Generaud, must I give reason for visiting the famous 'Les -Voyageurs'?" - -"Ah! By gosh, no!" He beamed welcome in every pore--then struck an -attitude of despair. "You come, is it not, as an officier, perhaps -no--yes?" - -"Correct. I want to speak just for a minute to the men inside." - -"Oh, _mais non_!" The good host's gesture was a masterpiece, even -among a race of gesticulators. "Not to-night, monsieur." - -"And why not?" - -"By Gar! Who you theenk is inside now? Listen--she sing!" - -Campbell was too well acquainted with the universal French-Canadian use -of the feminine pronoun to express any surprise when "she" proved to be -the possessor of the aforesaid raucous, bass voice, which had broken -into some song anent the passion of a sailor for a Portuguese young -lady of great charm but doubtful modesty. - -"Who is our friend?" asked the officer. - -"What--you know not? She is the terrible Des Rosiers!" - -"Well, I don't like Mr. Des Rosiers's voice." - -"You nevair hear her name, monsieur? Sometime she is called 'Jacque -Noir.' _Mon Dieu!_--she sleep with _le diable_." - -The landlord's eyes grew wide with horror; his shoulders contracted -until they touched his ears. - -"Look here, my friend," said Campbell, with a tinge of impatience, -"Jacque Noir or Jacque Rouge or Jacque Blanc is not going to keep me -out here." - -"But, monsieur, once she _keel_ a man." - -"My dear fellow----" - -"One winter, a man has insult Des Rosiers, and--_voilà!_ Jacque Noir -_burn_ her house--_keel_ her family--_murdair_ her"---- - -With a laugh, the newly created officer thrust the little man aside and -entered the sacred precincts of "Les Voyageurs." A big, dirty, bearded -fellow of about thirty years of age was leaning against the counter, -waving a mug and bellowing a song. He looked formidable enough, but -hardly justified the diabolical qualities attributed to him by Pierre -Generaud. In spite of his unshaven face with its bloodshot, inebriated -eyes, there was something not unpleasing about the fellow, and when his -lips parted they disclosed teeth that were gleaming white. - -A group of villagers sat in open-mouthed admiration beneath the singer, -for Des Rosiers's reputation had gathered velocity like a snowball -rolling down the side of a hill, gaining in size every time it came -into contact with the drifts of rumor, until it had become almost a -legend of wickedness. His audience felt a timid pride in the event. It -was as if his Satanic Majesty himself had condescended to appear from -below and sing comic songs for their benefit. - -On the entrance of the officer, the song ceased, and all eyes were -turned to the new-comer. - -"_Holà_," said Des Rosiers, with extraordinary resonance. "You drink by -me, _eh bien_?" - -"No, thanks. I must only stay a minute." - -"You no drink?" roared the lumber-jack, whose hospitality was not -unlike the forcefulness of the muscular Christian in "Androcles and the -Lion." "You drink, or, by Gar, I brak your neck." - -A hum of admiration rose from the villagers. They bore no possible -malice towards the officer, but it was gratifying to find Jacque Noir -living up to his reputation. - -"_Messieurs_," said Campbell, ignoring the gentleman in question, -"there is a war. _La belle France_ fights for her life, and Canada -must help. She needs you--and you--and you." - -With their meager knowledge of English, he was forced to a simplicity -of language that depended almost entirely on the personal appeal for -effect. "Come with me to the war. We pay you one dollar ten a day, and -your wife and _garçons_ get money too." - -Mr. Des Rosiers laughed, scornfully and sonorously. "I laugh," he -said. "You theenk we go to war, and you English, by Gar, no leave -Canada, but steal all we leave behind. The French-Canadian--he go; the -English-Canadian, _non_." He roared a vile oath, and laid his hand on -Campbell's shoulder. "I brak your neck," he said comfortingly. - -In a moment Campbell's tunic was off and he was facing Jacque Noir. -"You are a liar, Des Rosiers," he said. "You are the greatest liar and -the worst singer in the province of Quebec." - -The Frenchman tore the red kerchief from his neck and hurled the mug to -the floor, where it broke into a hundred pieces. "By gosh, me!" he -bellowed in a voice that would have terrified a bull. "I _keel_ you!" - -He advanced in windmill fashion, but his opponent, who had been one of -the best boxers of his year at Toronto 'Varsity, stopped him with a -blow known technically as a "straight left to the jaw." Des Rosiers -paused to collect his thoughts. He was wondering whether to kick with -one foot or with both, when something happened, and oblivion settled -over him like the curtain on the last act of a melodrama. Campbell had -stepped forward, and, putting his shoulder behind it, had delivered a -blow on the lower part of the jaw with force enough to fell an ox. For -Des Rosiers the rest was silence. - -Concluding his recruiting speech to the dazed villagers, Campbell put -on his tunic and strode down the street.... But the fall of Mr. -Pecksniff in the eyes of Tom Pinch was not more complete than the -collapse of their idol, Jacque Noir, in the eyes of the inhabitants of -Ville Marie. - - -III - -A sky that was hung with stars looked down upon the shimmering -roof-tops of Haileybury. The streets were deserted except in the main -thoroughfare, where a group of men were seated in an irregular line, -their pipes glowing in the darkness. They had been there since dusk. - -Midnight passed, and the shadowy line was longer as each hour struck. -Men with heavy packs; men with the mud of the northern wilderness still -on their boots; men who had walked for sixty miles; men whose beardless -chins bespoke the schoolboys of a year before; men whose faces would -have looked coarse and cruel in any light but that of the stars; one by -one or in pairs they came. For each there was a yell of welcome, a -ribald jest or two--then silence once more, and the glowing pipes. The -first glimmering streaks of dawn showed the queue in all its -picturesque grotesqueness. The man in front was leaning against a frame -store that bore the placard "Recruiting Office." - -Some three thousand miles away, a Hohenzollern Emperor had said that -the British Empire would crumble into disintegration at the first sound -of war. And through the forests of the north and over weary trails men -were staggering on, mile after mile, fearful of one thing only--that -they might be too late to answer the call which had come, from across -the Atlantic, speeding over forests, cities, prairies, lakes, and -mountains until echo answered from the shores of the Pacific Coast. - -The early boat from Ville Marie discharged its half-dozen passengers. A -powerfully built French-Canadian strode up the hill and stopped at the -crowd of men. With a worried contraction of his heavy eyebrows he -surveyed the formidable length of the line. - -"Godam!" said he. - -Heedless of the jests and the comments of the mob, he went slowly down -the line, carefully scrutinizing each man, until he stopped at a -half-breed Indian. For a moment only they argued in French, then he -produced a roll of dollar notes in one hand, and brandished the other -hand threateningly in the half-breed's face. The combined arguments -proved too much; when the enrollment of recruits took place, number -eighteen was Jacque Des Rosiers, sworn to serve His Majesty the King -for the duration of the war and six months afterwards--in witness -whereof he had drawn an inky cross after his name. - -It would be difficult to give the exact motive for his action. He -probably had never heard of Belgium, but--well, take horns and tail -from the devil, and what is left? - -Three weeks later the company of amateur soldiers were warned to -proceed to the concentration camp. Willing, but puzzled by the -infliction of army discipline, they had struggled past the first -pitfalls of recruitship. For the sake of Captain Douglas Campbell, -their "boss," they had suppressed their grumbling and submitted to the -rites and ceremonies of military routine, arguing that, inexplicable as -it was, it had some connection, however remote, with the ultimate goal -of warfare. The afternoon before their departure Campbell spoke to them -for exactly five minutes. His hair looked redder and his eyes seemed -bluer than before. His powerfully built shoulders and the rhythm of his -muscles lent a grace to his entire body, despite its ruggedness. - -"Look here, you fellows," he said, "you signed up to fight--so did I. -We will fight, too, but Kitchener can't use us until we're ready. You -wonder what all this drill is about. Well, here's my idea about it. -There isn't a coward in this crowd; there isn't a man who wouldn't go -down a shaft after a pal, even if the chances were a hundred to one -against his coming back. But you're not ready for the front. You've got -the heart, but your bodies must have training and discipline. Watch me -with this cigarette. In flicking the ash I burn my finger; the next -time I want to touch the ash, my finger avoids it by a quarter of an -inch. I laugh and try again. You all know what I mean. I am not afraid -of the cigarette, but my finger is. If you've ever been kicked in the -leg by a horse, the next time that horse kicks, which of your legs is -drawn back first? In some strange way your body has instincts of its -own, and though you might have a heart like a bull, your muscles and -nerves--your body--might fail you when you needed them most. As I -understand the army system, it is to train you to obey, not only -mentally but physically. Eight months from now we may be lying -half-dead with the enemy's guns playing hell all around us. We may want -to quit, we may be 'all in,' but, if the order comes to advance, we'll -go forward, because our bodies will be disciplined to obey. - -"Be patient then, men, and just grin when things go wrong. I would -gladly have gone with you in the ranks, and there are lots of you chaps -better able to lead than I, but a commission was given to me, and I'm -out to do my best with the finest company of men in the Canadian -Expeditionary Force. I'm learning all the time--as you are. You will -have bad times, and so shall I; but let's help each other to laugh and -make the best of it, for, after all, we're just great big children -playing a mighty big game.... And when we reach France we'll show them -all that the old Cobalt gang is afraid of nothing in this world or the -next." - -They cheered--and the man who shouted loudest was Jacque Des -Rosiers.... And somewhere in the speech _esprit de corps_ had been -born. - - -IV - -Four winters passed by. - -France lay in the warmth of a late spring evening, like a stricken deer -that has thrown off its pursuers momentarily, but is bleeding from a -hundred wounds. Month after month she had endured the invader, and the -cycle of years, instead of freeing her had only deepened her agony. -What had she left? The next attack would see Arras and her remaining -coalfields gone, the Channel ports captured, and then ... Paris?... -Paris? - -Unperturbed, however, by any such thoughts, Petite Simunde--no one -thought of her by any other name--was driving four cows home from -pasture. The setting sun shed a kindly hue on her gingham garment that -was neither a frock nor an apron, yet served as both. Nor was the -mellowing sunlight unkind to her face, for the racial sallowness of her -cheeks, accentuated by too constant exposure to the elements, was -softened and shaded into a gentle brown. Her shoes, which were far too -large, were in the final stages of disrepair. About the brow her hair -was braided with a simplicity that was by no means devoid of charm. Her -eyes--but there she was really French. Simunde had never been farther -from the village of Le Curois than the neighboring town of Avesnes Le -Comte (unless one counts the momentous occasion, a year after her -birth, when she was taken to Arras for exhibition before an esteemed -and wealthy relative, who was so little impressed that he bequeathed -his entire estate, consisting of eight thousand francs, to a -manufacturer of tombstones); but a French woman does not acquire -coquetry--she is born with it. Even in church Simunde would cast such -languishing yet mischievous eyes upon the curé himself, that the poor -little man, who had never liked Latin at any time, used to stammer and -mumble his orisons like an over-conscientious penitent at confessional. - -When her two brothers went to war Simunde, who was then sixteen, -assumed their tasks in addition to her own, in all of which she had the -able direction of "madame" her mother. Between them they performed a -day's work that would have exhausted two husky laborers. As is the -custom in most of northern France, their home was not on the farm, but -in the village, for one of the first essentials of existence to a -Frenchman is companionship. On the outskirts of Le Curois, just on the -hill, there was a great château, beautifully, gloomily aloof; but in -the one street of the village itself, pigs, cows, hens and their -offspring wallowed in mud and accumulated filth. - -It is difficult to know which is the more striking: the French -peasant's stoicism in the presence of war, or his indifference to dirt. - -On this particular evening in May of 1918 Simunde was frankly -regretting the absence of men. Not that she had ever been in love or -known the rapture of wandering in the moonlight with a man (France is -almost the only civilized country remaining that has not relegated -chaperons to the realm of fiction); but she wanted to use her eyes on -something more susceptible than a cow or a curé. It was spring, and she -felt pretty, and when a woman is conscious of her own charm she seldom -wishes to prove miserly with it. - -She had just run across the road to convince a cow of its loss of the -sense of direction when she heard the neighing of a horse. Glancing -behind her, she looked directly into the eyes of a mounted British -officer, whereupon that gentleman brought his steed to a standstill. - -"_Bon soir, mademoiselle_," he said. - -"_Bon soir, monsieur_," she answered demurely. Her eyes were lowered -shyly, and her fingers played over the stick she was carrying, like a -flute-player caressing his instrument. The officer bowed slightly and -tried to recall his French vocabulary, though it must be admitted he -was never loquacious in any tongue when conversing with a daughter of -Eve. As for her, since it is a woman's _rôle_, she waited. Would he -speak again or would he pass on, leaving the memory of yet one more -meeting with a gentleman of adventure--one more roadside drama in which -the dialogue consisted only of an exchange of salutations. Most men who -have returned from France will recall for years to come how, a few -kilometres back from Hell, they often caught a glimpse of two dark eyes -and a tender smile. Just that and-- - -"_Bon soir, mademoiselle._" - -"_Bon soir, monsieur._" - -Commonplace, perhaps, in the telling, but in France it was the -commonplace that became romance. - -A smile crept into the officer's eyes, which were blue and kindly, -though they had a glint in them--something like metal--a look that a -mother always noticed first when her son returned from the line. - -"_Où est le village?_" he ventured. - -"Le Curois?" - -"_Oui!_ Le Curois." - -"_Mais, monsieur_"--her eyes widened and her hands indicated the -village dwellings--"_c'est ici Le Curois_!" - -He breathed deeply and ventured again. - -"_Connaissez-vous un billet pour dix officiers?_" - -He felt rather pleased with the sentence; it was true he had intended -to get accommodation for eleven officers, but it was moderately -accurate for a foreign tongue. - -For answer Simunde led him, preceded by the four cows, to her domicile -as "Madame," like all French housewives had received billeting -instructions in the first year of the war. In conjunction with her -neighbors on either side, she speedily arranged accommodation for -eleven officers in their cottages, and for the officers' _domestiques_ -in the barns. - -One hour later the guests of war, their battalion having come out for a -rest, were dining comfortably in the home of Petite Simunde, while a -sow, attended by ten small pigs, snorted approvingly outside the door. - -Less than an hour afterwards Private Des Rosiers, acting as temporary -batman to Major Douglas Campbell, was sitting on a chair in the -farm-yard, in the glittering moonlight, regaling Simunde and her mother -with grossly exaggerated stories of the mining country of Cobalt. He -told them of his misdeeds, not in humility, but with much -_braggadocio_, and his auditors listened, lost in gesticulatory -admiration. Simunde was thrilled from her ill-shod feet to her braided -brow. Jacque Des Rosiers was the first really wicked man she had met, -and, woman-like, she was fascinated; also he had nice teeth and -flashing eyes. - -The picture of a young officer on horseback whose brown hair was almost -red and whose humorous blue eyes had a glint in them like metal, faded -as completely from her mind as the memory of the sunset that had thrown -its spell upon them. - -Unromantic?... _Que voulez-vous? C'est la guerre!_ - - -V - -Two weeks passed, during which period the placid fields about Le Curois -resounded to the shouts of Canadian troops rehearsing open warfare (for -rumor had it that the hour was almost at hand when Foch was to release -the forces of retribution). For pastime, the troops played baseball and -held field-days of many and varied sports. Whatever they did, they -shouted lustily and continuously while doing it, for they had mastered -one elemental truth--that nothing can be accomplished without -intensity. - -Des Rosiers explained baseball to Simunde, who enjoyed the description -without allowing it to interfere with her innumerable domestic and -agricultural duties. It was quite true that Jacque Noir had never -played the game or even mastered its rudiments, but he had the -narrator's instinct that rises above mere accuracy of detail. - -Every evening he accompanied Simunde to the pasture-land, and together -they guided the patient cows homeward. When darkness set in and -Simunde's tasks were finished for the day, he sat with her in the -farm-yard and told lurid tales of northern Canada--to all of which -"madame," whose tasks were never finished, lent a delighted and -adjoining ear. - -He pictured to Simunde the snow--how it filled the rivers till they ran -no more; how it covered the great pine-trees until, as far as eye could -see, there was nothing but white; and he told of the wind that was -never still. And she listened, as only a Frenchwoman can listen, with -every emotion he called forth registering in her face, as clouds racing -across the sun will throw their shadows on the ground. - -Just before the battalion was to return to the line, the second in -command, Major Douglas Campbell, was called to Divisional Headquarters -for a prolonged conference. As a result Des Rosiers was returned to his -company for duty, though he contrived to spend every free hour with the -little belle of Le Curois. As the time for parting approached with -cruel celerity, he talked less and took to long spells of moody -silence. His heart had been melted as completely as the snow in his -Northland is thawed by the sun in spring. As for her, the little -artifices of gesture and the ceaseless coquetry of the eyes became less -noticeable. For the first time in her life she felt the anguish of a -woman's tears; Petite Simunde's guileless and innocent heart had been -won by Jacque Des Rosiers, the bad man of Northern Quebec. - -In a tempest of passionate ardor, but with becoming deference, he -addressed his suit to the mother, who promised consideration that night -and her answer on the morrow. - -It was hardly twilight when he wandered back along the main road -towards the fields where his battalion was bivouacked. Full of the -picture of the little woman who had bewitched him, he failed to notice -the approach of an exceedingly smart young staff-officer, ablaze in a -glory of red and brass. With unseeing eyes, Des Rosiers looked directly -at the young gentleman, but failed to make any sign. The officer, fresh -from a staff course in England, stopped him with a sharp command. - -"Just a moment, my man. Don't you know enough to salute?" - -Des Rosiers awoke from his dream, came to attention, and saluted very -badly. - -"I no see you, sair," he said. - -"Don't lie to me," snapped Brass Hat (who wasn't a bad chap on the -whole); "of course you saw me. Damn it, you looked right at me. It's -fellows like you who give the corps a bad name." - -He was wrong there. It was the presence of several thousand men like -Des Rosiers that had given the Canadian Corps a wonderful name--but let -that pass, as Jack Point would have said. - -The element of tragedy seldom enters the lists of life with a fanfare -of trumpets. It steals in unobtrusively, like a poor relation. It comes -in the garb of the commonplace, or masked in triviality or gaiety. One -is unaware of its presence until it throws off concealment and points -its yellow fingers at the throat of its victims. What dramatist would -have read tragedy into the absurd tableau presented by a slouchy -French-Canadian soldier and a youthful staff-officer? Yet, as -inexorable as Fate, it was approaching Jacque Des Rosiers, and only a -few yards away, hiding its skeleton's grin behind the mundane -countenance of Sergeant Smith, returning to the battalion after a day's -work in the orderly room. - -The officer, who had just made a move to resume his walk, noticed the -sergeant, and called him over. - -"You are from the same battalion as this chap?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Report him to his company commander for failing to salute an officer. -Impress upon him that I would not have made this complaint, but your -man looked directly at me, and--well, discipline must be maintained, -especially out here." - -Whereupon, feeling that he had rendered unto Cæsar the things that were -Cæsar's, the youthful captain sauntered on to the château, occupied by -Divisional Headquarters, and dined with extra zest. And if it be -thought that this narrative treats him unkindly, let it be written -that, three months later, he was badly wounded while performing a very -gallant action. He was a professional soldier, somewhat lacking in -psychology; that was all. - -A little later Private Des Rosiers was arraigned before his company -commander, a gentleman who was neither a soldier nor a psychologist. -The heinous crime of passing an officer without acknowledgment was laid -to the charge of the battle-worn and love-lorn villain from Quebec. - -"What have you got to say for yourself?" - -Des Rosiers said it. The officer shook his head. - -"It's not good enough," he said. "You French-Canadians seem to think -there's one law for yourselves and another for everybody else. You -throw all your comrades down by deliberately insulting an officer--a -staff-officer, who reports it to the G.O.C., and there you are. We're -known as a bad battalion just because of a few slackers like you. Put -him on the horse line picket for two nights, and confine him to camp -during the day." - -The prisoner started. "Sair," he said, "I can no be here to-morrow -night. _C'est impossible._" - -"Oh, is it emposeeble?" answered the officer, who prided himself on a -gift of neat retort. Des Rosiers's eyes protruded to their utmost. - -"By Gar!" he cried, "and nex' morning we go back to the line _encore_, -yes?" - -"Well? Have you any objections? If so, I am sure the divisional -commander would appreciate hearing them." - -"Ah, but _monsieur l'officier_"--his hands were stretched forth in -an agony of appeal--"Petite Simunde, she wait for me. I promise to -come--I no come--it is terrible!" - -The judge in khaki laughed. - -"I am fed up with the stories of you French-Canadians and your village -sweethearts--and, confound it, stop waving your hands about!" - -"Standt'attenshun!" bellowed the sergeant-major. - -"Consider yourself lucky to get off so lightly, my man.--That will do, -sergeant-major." - -"Escor' a'prisoner--ri tuh--qui' mawch.--Lef' ri', lef' ri', lef' -ri--Pawty, ha't.--Report to horse line N.C.O. right away.--Escor', -dees-mi!" - -Rather late for mess, by reason of holding orderly room at an unusual -hour, the company commander sat down to dinner with a glow of virtue in -his bosom. He had been a lawyer-politician in a small Ontario town, and -it pleased him to find that he had not lost the art of Buzfuzian -browbeating. - -And through it all the Fates had woven a thread of tragedy about the -life of Jacque Noir, using in their scheme of things a -non-psychological staff-officer, a non-military and non-psychological -company commander, and a sergeant whose name was Smith. - -"There is humor in all things," said Jack Point. Gilbert would have -been equally correct if he had substituted the word "tragedy." - -Before sundown of the next day the prisoner was reported absent, and -when the battalion marched away for the line Jacque Des Rosiers was not -with it. - - -VI - -Four days had passed before the second-in-command rejoined his unit in -the trenches. Campbell had been held at Divisional Headquarters, and -now for the first time learned of Des Rosiers's desertion. With a -stiffening of the jaw and an ugly contraction of his shoulders, he -quickly interrogated tragedy's mummers--a sergeant named Smith and a -politician-lawyer company commander. To the former he said nothing; the -man had done his obvious duty. To the company commander he gave a -careful hearing; then, in short staccato sentences that had an odd -resemblance to a machine-gun in action, subjected him to brief -questioning. - -"What is Des Rosiers's conduct-sheet like?" - -"Pretty bad, sir." - -"What were his crimes?" - -"Oh, the usual things--dirty on C.O.'s inspection, equipment missing, -late for parades, and generally slovenly. If he hadn't had such a poor -sheet, he would have been decorated." - -"In other words, his crimes are rest-billet ones. Is that correct?" - -"Well--yes, sir." - -"But in the line he earned a decoration?" - -"Yes--at Vimy, he----" - -"Have you known him to lie?" - -"Well, you know what these French-Canadians are like." - -"You understand what I mean. Have you ever known him to lie when put on -his honor?" - -"Er--no." - -"When he told you that he had to see this girl, did you find out if he -was speaking the truth?" - -"No, sir, I----" - -"Did you look for him at this girl's place when you were coming away?" - -"I sent a picket through the village." - -The blue in Campbell's eyes became unpleasantly light. "I had Des -Rosiers in my company at Ypres when the Hun sent over his first -gas--you were addressing meetings in Canada at the time--and I know him -for a brave chap, as faithful as a dog. It's men like you with a sense -of vision no better than a mud-puddle that are making the -French-Canadian question another Irish one. They are like children, -easily swayed and true as steel to those they trust; but as long as you -and your kind make a political cat's-paw out of them, alternately -yelling 'Kamerad' and 'Traitor,' according to the political exigencies -of the moment, so long will Canada be without the sympathy and the -enriching of a wonderfully virile race." - -The junior officer's face flushed. "I acted according to the evidence," -he persisted hotly. - -"Damn the evidence!" said Campbell furiously. "Play the man, not the -charge-sheet. Does Des Rosiers strike you as a chap who would -deliberately insult a staff-officer? When he is caught he will be shot. -It can't be helped--discipline must be maintained; but I tell you, -when, every few days I read in the adjutant-general's orders that -Private So-and-So, charged with desertion in the presence of the enemy, -was apprehended in a certain village, tried by court-martial, and -sentenced to be shot, sentence duly carried out at 4:15 A.M. on such -and such a date--you know the ghastly rhythm of the thing as well as I -do--I never read one of these announcements without having a bad ten -minutes afterwards. I don't question the decision of the court--a -deserter must pay the penalty--but, mark my words, behind every one of -these offences there is the unseen part played by some officer or -N.C.O. who punished at the wrong time or failed to punish at the right. -There are far too many machine-made routine-fed chaps in the army, with -stars on their cuffs, who don't know that there are times when the grip -of a hand on a Tommy's shoulder, and a few words as man to man, free of -any cursed condescension, are worth all the conduct-sheets in -existence." - -"You are making a mountain out of a mole-hill, sir. I consider you are -very unfair to me." - -"You do, eh?... What about your unfairness to Des Rosiers and his -little French girl, when he faces a firing-squad in the early morning?" - -With an angry gesture, Campbell left the dugout and hurried to -Battalion Headquarters. For twenty minutes he and the colonel, a -gentleman and a soldier, quietly but firmly discussed the case of -desertion. - -"I agree with everything you say, Campbell," said the older man, "and I -will strongly recommend mercy to the court; but I am commanding a unit -made up of many personalities, and must think of the example to all." - -"Very good, sir. By the way, colonel, I know where Des Rosiers is." - -"You do? Then send word to the A.P.M." - -"Excuse me, sir; may I go and bring him myself? I ask this as a very -great favor." - -The colonel pondered for a moment. "When will you be back?" he said. - -"Before 'Stand to' in the morning." - -"Right--but, Campbell, my boy." - -"Sir." - -"Whatever you have in mind, remember that your duty and mine is to -think of the example to the battalion." - -The blue in Campbell's eyes deepened; then, with an imperious gesture -of the head, like that of a horse that hears the sound of galloping -hoofs a mile away, he saluted. - -"I shall not forget what you say, sir." - -"Thank you, Douglas." - -With a restless impatience for delay, Campbell left the dug-out and -climbed from the trench to open land. Heedless of a machine-gun that -spat at him from the enemy lines, he hurried on until he reached the -brigade transport lines, where he secured a motor-car. - -"Where to, sir?" asked the driver. - -"Le Curois," said the major; "and drop me just before you come to the -village." - - -VII - -In the scorching heat of a summer afternoon, Petite Simunde was washing -some linen outside her cottage home. The silence, like the heat, was -oppressive, and seemed more so by contrast with the noise of the troops -who had been there a week before. An apple falling from a tree to the -ground; the restless pounding of a horse's hoof in its stall; the -distant hum of an aeroplane; the rumble of guns, faint but -ominous--these and the sighs of the little woman at her task, were the -only sounds that broke the stillness of the air. - -She heard footsteps, and her heart, more than her eyes, told her that -the man she dreaded had come. Her face blanched, and she caught her -breath with a spasm of pain. - -"Simunde"--Campbell's voice was gentle but firm--"where is Jacque?" - -She continued her work without looking up. - -"Simunde"--again the quiet monotone--"where is Jacque?" - -She shook her head. "No compree" she faltered, falling into the jargon -of war. - -"Simunde!" There was an inflection in his voice, an almost -imperceptible note of severity, that set her heart throbbing with fear. -This was a new person to her, this calm, stern, blue-eyed man who -showed no excitement, no anger, only a quiet, kindly severity that gave -her no chance for subterfuge. She hated him for his calmness--because -he was English--because he was unfair. If he had only shouted or -gesticulated--but this brown-haired giant! To oppose him was like -trying to stem the incoming tide. - -She looked up suddenly, and her dripping hands were clenched in a fever -of supplication. Madly she pleaded for her lover, as a woman will plead -only for the man she loves or for her child. Tears ran down her cheeks, -and her voice was choked with sobs. - -Patiently he listened, gathering from the anguish more than from her -words the story he had already guessed. In a climax of grief, she -groped for him with her hands and would have cried on his breast. But -he made no move; only his eyes were very grave and tender. - -"Simunde," he reiterated in English, "where is Jacque?" - -With a shrill cry of rage, she stamped her foot on the ground. This -great iceberg of a man was a devil! He had come for her lover. He would -take Jacque away to be shot. With an involuntary instinct of dismay, -she glanced at the barn some little distance away; then, fearful that -he had read her meaning, she forced a smile with her lips. - -Without a word, he put her gently aside and started for the barn. He -had gone ten steps before she moved, when he heard her hurried -breathing and her hands were on his arm. - -"_Monsieur_" she cried--"_monsieur le major_--Jacque--Jacque _keel_ -you!" She spoke in broken English, remembering one of Des Rosiers's -stories of his misdeeds. Releasing her fingers, he reached the barn in -a few short paces. Opening the door, he cautiously entered and tried to -accustom himself to the semi-darkness--and saw the barrel of a rifle in -the loft slowly aligning itself in his direction. - -"Des Rosiers!" His voice rang out like a pistol-shot. "It is I--your -officer!" - -There was no sound for almost a full minute, then the rifle was -withdrawn, and the unshaved, disheveled French-Canadian stood before -him. - -"Why you come?" he said brokenly. "I can no shoot my officier. Why you -come, eh?" - -"Because you will go back with me, Des Rosiers." - -The deserter's eyes filled with tears. "By Gar!" he said, "it is not, -what you say, play fair. I say I shoot who come, and Jacque Des -Rosiers, he is no afraid. But you--my boss--_mais non_! Maybe I go -back with you and maybe they shoot me, yes?" - -"You have deserted, and the punishment is--well, you know as well as I. -If you come with me now there is a small chance of mercy." - -The man's eyes flashed. "I no ask for mercy," he cried. "I, Jacque Des -Rosiers want mercy? Pouf! I laugh. They tell me I no see Simunde again, -when I do nottings wrong. _Très bien_--I say sometings about it too. I -go, I stay--_mêm' chose_; I am shot. Good! I stay with Simunde." - -Campbell took a step forward, and there was metal in his voice as well -as in his eyes. His hand fell on the other's shoulder and gripped it -like a vice. "You will come back with me," he said, and again there was -a strange similarity to a machine-gun; "not that you may receive mercy, -but because you are a coward, and must face your punishment for -desertion in the presence of the enemy." - -Des Rosiers's face darkened. - -"Now, at this minute," went on Campbell, "the battalion, your battalion -and mine, is in the line. Because you were not there, another man is in -your place, perhaps at sentry duty. He may be dead by now--and why? -Because he did his duty, and took the place of a man who was afraid." - -The French-Canadian's breath was hot with fury. He clenched his fists, -and great veins stood out on his forehead. "By gosh, me!" he yelled; -"who say Jacque Noir, she is afraid?" - -With apparent calm, but his muscles poised for action, the officer -looked squarely at him. "I say you are a coward," he answered. "You -were afraid to go to the line with your comrades. You are afraid now to -face your punishment." - -He noticed that Jacque was crouching for a spring. With a shrug of his -shoulders, he produced a cigarette-case and put a cigarette into his -mouth. - -"Well?" he said. - -It was the second time he had beaten Des Rosiers. The poor fellow -paused, then fell at his feet and exhausted his passion in a sobbing -explanation that would have been ludicrous but for the sincerity of -anguish behind it. - -A few minutes later they went together from the barn. Simunde was -standing by her door. From the interior of the house the lamentations -of "madame" could be heard. With a simplicity that strangely ennobled -the rough fellow, Des Rosiers stopped and spoke to Simunde in French, -then kissed her on the lips with a reverence that was more moving than -the deepest passion. Without a word, he entered the motor-car and -stared fixedly ahead at the road which climbed by the château. With a -half-sob, Simunde turned to the officer. She said nothing, but her -tears spoke a language that needed no words. The metal in his eyes -melted into a deep compassionate blue; and Petite Simunde's troubled -little heart thanked God for the great, broad-shouldered man with the -hair that was almost red. - - -VIII - -The two men slept in a deserted hut that night, but an hour before -daybreak they were wending their way through the communication-trenches -to the front line. It was half-an-hour before "Stand to" when the major -and his unkempt companion reached the last dark trench where sentries -were straining their eyes at the blackness of No Man's Land. A junior -officer stepped up to the major and reported, quietly, the situation -during the night. - -"They've got a machine-gun post," he said at the end, "somewhere over -by those three trees. Can you see them, sir? They got five of our chaps -last night and two the night before." - -"Humph! They tried for me too, yesterday afternoon. Can't the guns do -anything?" - -"They've tried, sir, but the rise in the ground seems to protect them -from anything except a direct hit." - -Even in the darkness the young lieutenant could notice the sudden look -of decision which flashed into Campbell's eyes. - -"Give me an A form," he said tersely. - -The lieutenant handed him a message-pad on which he wrote a few words. - -"See that the colonel gets this," he said, "and pass word along to the -other companies that Private Des Rosiers and I are going to get that -machine-gun post; so if we come back don't give us too hot a reception -from your sentries.--Sergeant, some bombs.--And let Des Rosiers have -that revolver, old chap. My batman will give you one of mine. -Right--thanks." - -"But, sir"--the young officer was vastly troubled--"it's not up to you. -I'll go, major. Honestly, I want to----" - -"Thanks, old man; but this is a bigger job than it looks. Not that you -couldn't do it as well or better, but--well, I've set my heart on -going, that's all." - -He glanced at Des Rosiers, and noticed that his face was grim and set. - -"But, my officier, it is not fair," began the French-Canadian; "it----" - -"Not fair?" There was a rasping sound in the major's voice. - -"For me, _mais oui_, but for you, _non_. Please--I do my bes'--I go -alone." - -Without a word, the second-in-command put out his hand and grasped that -of the deserter; and Des Rosiers felt that death for the other would be -easy. Truly, as Campbell had said, war is a great big game, and men are -like children. - -Three minutes later two figures were crawling like panthers towards the -German lines. - - -IX - -The colonel of the battalion took the message from the runner's hand. -It contained seven words: - - "_As an example to the battalion._ - - "CAMPBELL." - -"What's that noise?" - -"Sounds like Mills bombs," said the adjutant. - -"And revolvers," muttered the colonel, and swore softly to himself with -a lip that quivered strangely. - - -X - -If ever you go to the Cobalt country, do not fail to take the boat to -Ville Marie, on the blue shores of Pontiac. - -There is an excellent hostelry at Ville Marie called "Les Voyageurs," -where a little lady, known as Petite Simunde, has worked wonders in -making it the cosiest, snuggest, neatest little place that ever warmed -the heart of a lumberjack or a mining-prospector. At night her husband -leads the singing with a mighty voice that shakes the rafters; for did -not the former proprietor, Pierre Generaud, say that singing encouraged -thirst? - -At times, when Madame Des Rosiers is away for a day, Jacque Noir will -regale his old friends with tales of his past life, stories that differ -with every telling, and seem to indicate that the narrator himself is -beginning to doubt their accuracy. At these times, too, he has been -known to sing of a sailor who loved a Portuguese maid; but at the first -sound of his wife's footsteps outside Monsieur Des Rosiers is the model -husband, a _rôle_, to be frank, which suits him quite well. - -When the snow is very thick on the ground, and the wind howls -mournfully over the lake, Jacque Noir talks of France and the weary -years of war. He will point with pride to his artificial foot, and then -to his decoration, and slowly tell how two men went out into the dark -after a machine-gun post. - -And when the guests are gone and the fire is low, when the wind is -moaning quietly, while the snow falls thick--thick--thick--they speak -to each other of the officer who will never come back; of the one whose -hair was brown, almost like red; whose blue eyes were stern, and yet so -kind. - -Hand-in-hand they sit close together, and the only sounds are those of -the crackling logs and the wind that is never still. - - - - -THE MAN WHO SCOFFED - - -I - -Dennis Montague of Toronto emerged from his bath, glowing and -talkative. A luxurious deep-blue dressing-gown was wrapped about his -form, its color accentuating the gray-blue of his eyes. His valet stood -beside his bed, on which there reposed a set of garments suitable for a -gentleman bent on spending an evening out. - -"Ah, Sylvester! That's right. We poor devils must look as well as the -abominable fashions will permit. Did you ever wonder why the men of -to-day are so commonplace? It is the clothes they wear." - -Mr. Sylvester took the dressing-gown and hung it in the closet. - -"For instance, my dear fellow, to-night I am in a devilishly brilliant -mood; almost any moment now I might say something clever. If I had my -way, I should dress in scarlet, like a toreador, and when I spoke, my -sentences would have something of the dart about them.... Such would be -the fusion of temperament and costume. Instead of which--by the way, -mix me a cocktail--I am forced to put on this hideous shirt and a -swallow-tailed monstrosity that gives one the appearance of a reformed -chimney-sweep. A greater man than either of us, Sylvester, said that -the world was all a stage. Then why the deuce don't we dress for our -parts?" - -"'Ere's your cocktail, sir." - -"Good--excellent. What's the time?" - -"Gone past seven-thirty, sir." - -"By Jove! I shall be late. I am always late, my dear chap; it partly -accounts for my extraordinary popularity. A hostess is so relieved to -see me by the time I turn up that for years afterwards she associates -my face with pleasant sensations. Any mail, Sylvester?" - -His servant crossed to the table, on which there reposed four letters. -"These came in this afternoon, sir." - -"Read them to me while I dress." - -"Read them, Mr. Montague?" The valet's face was a study of respectful -expostulation. - -"Is the idea so preposterous, my dear fellow? I believe most people -write letters with the idea of having them read." - -The decorous Sylvester sighed, and broke the seal of the first letter. -"I would beg to remind you," he read, "that your account----" - -Montague made a deprecatory gesture. "How polite these trades-people -are!" he said. "I shall expect one some day to enclose forget-me-nots. -The next letter?" - -Sylvester solemnly opened a diminutive envelope. "Mrs. W. De-Ponsy -Harris requests the pleasure----" - -"Another request! What is it--a tea or a dance?" - -"A dinner, sir." - -"Good! I shall go. Mrs. Harris is the worst hostess in the city, but -she keeps the best cook. Proceed." - -The worthy Sylvester took from the table a delicately scented letter -that breathed its delightful suggestion of romance to his grateful -nostrils, whereupon he promptly blushed a deep, unlovely, tomato-like -red. "It starts," said he, "'My Dearest Love----'" - -His master glanced at him. "Don't blush," he said. "The _grande -passion_ is nothing to be ashamed of." He carefully adjusted his tie. -"What is the young lady's name?" - -"Myrtle, sir." - -"Ah, yes; poor little Myrtle! What a pity a woman clings to a romance -that is dead. There is something morbid in women that makes them do it. -It is like embracing a corpse." - -"Shall I read it, sir?" - -"No, no; don't bother. I know what is in it. On the third page she -declares she hates me, and on the fifth she denies it. Myrtle runs so -deucedly to form." - -A look of relief crossed the rotund countenance of Mr. Sylvester as he -took up the last letter. "It's from a society for educating the poor, -sir." - -"Tear it up. What we need is a society for educating the rich." -Completely dressed, Montague turned round and struck an attitude. "It -is my intention some day," he said with mock airiness, "to found a -_Conservatoire Universelle_, where philanthropists will be taught -charity, ministers of the gospel gain humility, musicians learn to -feel, and newspaper writers take up the elements of language. Heavens! -such scope as I should have! Stick your head out of the window and see -if a taxi is waiting." - -Sylvester raised the window and surveyed the street below. "It's there, -sir," he said, drawing his head in. - -"Then I shall leave you. Mrs. Le Roy is giving a dinner-party this -evening, and she invariably has guests who listen charmingly. -Good-night, Sylvester." - -"Good-night, sir." - -When he was gone, William Sylvester scratched his thinly covered head. -He then shrugged his shoulders, and followed this action by pouring out -a glass of sherry. He took a sip. "'Eavens!" he said aloud; "'ow 'e do -talk!" - - -II - -Montague leaned back in the taxicab and, enjoying that sense of -contentment almost invariably engendered by a smooth-running vehicle, -allowed his mind to browse in the meadows of memory. - -It was a process which gave him considerable pleasure, for he was a man -who respected his own accomplishments--though given to satirical -comment on those of others. Satisfaction with his past had bred in him -a contentment with the present.... And he never doubted the future; for -was not to-morrow merely to-day carried on? - -There were many reasons tending towards his peace of mind. One: that he -was twenty-eight years of age. At such a period in a man's life he -meets older men on a footing of equality, and younger men with -patronage. Women of all ages admire him, and their husbands ask him to -lunch at their clubs. There is no age more gratifying to the vanity. - -The man of twenty-eight is an Ambassador of Youth meeting the -Plenipotentiaries of Age as an equal. - -Unfortunately for Dennis Montague, he allowed his own excellent opinion -of himself to deepen with the admiration of others until it completely -outstripped all rivals. At twenty-six he had his first great love -affair--with himself. At twenty-eight it had ripened into a sort of -reverence. Occasionally he flirted with women, but such incidents were -mere inconstancies, peccadillos, which never seriously threatened his -own overwhelming _affaire d'amour_. - -Born in Ottawa, Dennis was the son of an ambitious mother and a -high-placed Government official. Educated for the law, he had applied a -dexterous intellect to that noble and musty study, and had succeeded in -having himself called to the Bar when he was twenty-three. Up to that -time he had known no other civilization than that found in the capital -of his native land, where a peer of the realm, graciously appointed by -the Imperial Government to act as interpreter between the Mother -Country and the Dominion of Canada, regularly spends his appointed term -at the Government House, thereby stimulating Ottawa's social activities -to fever-heat. It even produces a philosophy of its own among the -capital's tuft-hunters. For, even if _this_ governor-general doesn't -ask us to dinner, there's always a chance that the _next_ one will. - -Montague became a noted figure in Ottawa's younger social set, and, -though he expressed contempt for all such things, found a certain -gratification in seeing his name appear constantly in the social -columns of the city's press. It was a soothing sensation to read the -chronicle of his adolescent activities.... Few people can resist a glow -of pleasure on seeing in the morning paper that they were where they -were the previous evening. - -Even in the remotest rural districts of America the weekly journal -records that "Hank Wilson went over to Hiram Johnston's farm at Hen's -Creek to see his new barn. Hiram Johnston is one of the most -enterprising farmers that we got." - -But--there is something solid about that barn. - -After the legal profession had opened its portals to Montague he moved -to Toronto, accepting a junior partnership in a firm of some standing. -To his amazement, he found that in Toronto the _entrée_ into the best -circles--and he could not exist in any other--was more difficult than -in Ottawa. Though both cities had that reverence for wealth which is -universal, Toronto's large population made a sudden and successful -_début_ far from easy. There were so many sets--those who yachted, -danced, and golfed; those who danced and golfed; and those who merely -golfed. Montague decided that the last class was too fatiguing. - -Then there were those extraordinary people who practiced the arts in an -amiable way. There is probably no city in the world where there exists -more comfortable talent than in Toronto. For a time music was the -occupation of musicians, but society embraced it, to the benefit of -them both, with the result that musical homes abound. - -This worried Montague. The younger set in Ottawa knew no such -phenomena. - -Looking farther afield, he next caught a glimpse of the University -family, an after-growth of the larger life of Toronto 'Varsity. But he -avoided that. His mind was dexterous, but needed lesser minds beside it -to give it the sparkle of contrast. - -In desperation he turned to the purely _nouveaux riches_, only to -find that they had made entangling alliances with all the other -fraternities. - -There was only one well untapped--the Canadian Militia; but his mind -rejected that at once. He had always agreed with Disraeli that -soldiering was fit only for fools in peace-time and for barbarians in -times of war. - -He joined the Royal Canadian Yacht Club. - -His dinner-parties on the verandas of that beautiful place caused him -to be noticed. A friend of his introduced him to one of the society -reporters. He invited her to a dinner, and sent her home in a -limousine. - -Toronto wavered. He was certainly good-looking, and had not the "_C'est -entendu_" column of one of the largest dailies recorded that "Mr. -Dennis Montague's dinner-parties at the Yacht Club have a----" followed -by several French words that were most impressive? - -With the genius of a great general, he saw that the gates were -unlocked. Now for some stroke to thrust them open! For two months he -cogitated, and then one day it came to him with a flash, as ideas -occasionally present themselves to authors. - -He engaged Mr. Sylvester as a valet. Toronto society surrendered -unconditionally. - -It was not so much that Sylvester was a valet, but that he had a nice -appreciation of effect. Sometimes, when his master was playing tennis -on the lawns of the Yacht Club, the unobtrusive servant would be seen -patiently waiting outside the wire-screen, with a letter, or a -suit-case, or some verbal question concerning domestic economy. -Montague appeared annoyed and raised his salary. - -But triumph is satisfying only if it leads to further victories; and -Dennis began to cast about for some _rôle_ which would distinguish -him from his fellows. The death of his father handed on to him a yearly -income which made his position secure; but he was not satisfied. It was -then that he learned to scoff. - -It was an experiment at first, but an immediately successful one. His -brain, always keen and linked to a facile vocabulary, became focused on -the unlovely task of ridiculing life; and as he was ever careful not to -satirize the set with whom he was dining, his popularity became -tremendous. By a process of catalogue culture he was able to talk on a -variety of subjects; his method being that if one heard the waltz from -_La Bohème_, one was entitled to discuss Puccini. One of Brangwyn's -earlier efforts in a friend's house was sufficient basis for him to -pose as a judge of etchings. He read part of one book by a myriad of -writers, then discarding their works, held forth on the authors -themselves. - -With young men of observant and creative minds there are two paths -which, early in life's journey, offer puzzling deviation. To follow one -(and to youth it seems the less attractive), a man must bend his -faculties to the discovering and the interpreting of the beauty of -life; the other leads to the annihilation of everything that is genuine -and that can be used as a target for cynicism. Montague chose the -second path, and spared nothing but himself. - -Even when the war gripped the city, and one by one the little gods of -puny social life crashed impotently to destruction, he continued his -glittering way unperturbed. The war was young, and the 1st Canadian -Division was merely holding the line somewhere near a place called -Ypres.... The market for superficiality was still brisk. - -The taxi came to a stop outside a lovely home in Chestnut Park, and, -paying the driver, Montague mounted the steps and rang the bell. - -"I wonder," he mused, "who the deuce I shall have as a dinner partner?" - - -III - -After his usual apologies for tardiness, Montague led Mrs. Le Roy in to -dinner, and like the seasoned campaigner he had become, glanced at the -guests for conversational adversaries. His host and hostess were noisy -and given to platitudes; there was a soft-voiced American from the -South who seemed only anxious to be attentive and courteous to the -woman next him; on the other side there was a young woman who was so -consistently effusive that she was the most invited-out guest in -Toronto--but never had a love affair; beside her was a young subaltern -in an obviously new uniform. Montague had a vague idea that he had seen -that well-groomed uninspired face in some bank. And he was right. Less -than six months back the bank manager had written to the General Office -about this youth--"He's a decent enough fellow, but lacking in -initiative." - -Just beyond the subaltern Montague saw the finely chiseled features of -Vera Dalton, and for some reason unknown to himself his color mounted -as their eyes met. He had known her in Ottawa, though she had -steadfastly avoided his friends, and later, when her parents had come -to Toronto, he had seen her at odd intervals. He liked to think of her -as an old friend, though there was something about her that made his -flippancy difficult in her presence; but beyond their occasional -meetings at certain houses, neither one had made any attempt to develop -the friendship. - -She was fair without being blond, and avoiding the riotous climax of -color so tempting to fair women, she dressed in subtle shades, with -colors suggested rather than displayed. Her face had a poise and a -composure that had nothing in common with placidity; and she was -feminine without being helpless or making a constant sex appeal. She -had always interested Montague, and even though their conversations had -consisted of neatly worded nothings, her memory had a habit of -lingering with him in a way that disturbed his self-admiration. Two -things he felt about her--one, that she disliked him; the other, that -he held some power over her. - -He removed his eyes from hers, and, glancing for a moment at the -remaining guests, who sat like a jury with Mr. Le Roy at the end as -foreman, he drained his glass and leaped into the conversational ring -with a vivacious effrontery that was startling. Naturally of high -spirits and easily stimulated by applause, he juggled phrase and -quotation, tossed words into the air, and, as though he were a -conjurer, watched them link together into ideas. He held his listeners -in wonder and challenged them all on subjects ranging from New Thought -to the latest scandal. Once the American held him with a witty retort, -but Montague feinted with an epigram and stabbed him with a paradox. On -one occasion the newly created subaltern, stirred by wine and a certain -courage derived from his khaki, threw a truism into the arena in the -hope that it would trip the talker, but Montague, catching it on the -point of his wit, twirled it about, and hurled it at its source, -laughing as the discomfited young officer retired behind the barriers -of self-conscious silence. - -His hearers applauded by look and word, and Mrs. Le Roy whispered to -her servant to keep Montague's glass full.... She was delighted.... She -had never seen him glitter so. - -And Montague noted the applause, emptying his glass again and again; -but it was neither wine nor the incense of flattery that had stirred -his pulse to such energy.... In that glance from Vera's eyes he had -read a truth. His power, whatever it was, had mastered her dislike, and -he knew that in the evening before him she would bend in his arms as -the bow yields to the strength of the archer. - - -IV - -After dinner they danced. Mrs. Le Roy was not a gifted hostess, but she -acted on the principle that food, wine and music--provided the food and -the wine were high-class, and the music was not--would make any evening -a success. Few of her guests disagreed with her; their feet and their -tongues were light, and they danced and talked without self-consciousness -or mental effort. - -Twice Montague had danced with the girl, but it amused him to leave -her each time with some mocking pleasantry, the only answer to the -smoldering question of her eyes. It was nearly midnight when he led -her, almost without asking, into the deserted recess of the Le Roy's -conservatory, and, beckoning her to a settee, sat down beside her. With -her hands clasped on her lap she gazed fixedly at the shadowy garden -showing outside. - -Montague looked at her, and his eyes grew bright as they noted her -poise, tempered by fear of him. He leaned over and rested his hand on -hers. - -"Please don't," she said quietly, making no effort to withdraw her own. - -"Women always say 'don't,'" he said. "I suppose they enjoy a sort of -preliminary _tête-à-tête_ with conscience before committing an -indiscretion." - -"But I mean it, Dennis." - -"All women mean it, my dear Vera." - -Her color deepened, and she tried to release her hands from his, but -his grip tightened until it hurt. She made no further attempt, and he -moved still closer to her. - -"Please let me go," she said, keeping her eyes steadily from him. - -"You are inartistic." - -"But I ask you--and you are a gentleman." Something of the dislike that -he had always known she felt for him crept into her voice and left a -nice tinge of irony. - -"I have a valet and three addresses," he said, "and only pay my tailor -once a year.... In most countries that gives one the standing of a -gentleman." - -She bit her lip and glanced quickly at him. His pulses, already stirred -by wine and the intrigue of a midnight amour, leaped into a fever at -the glimpse of burning eyes and lips that slightly trembled. He placed -his hand on her shoulder and drew her face towards his. - -"Why," she said hesitatingly--"why do you want to kiss me?" - -Montague smiled. "The eternal question, Vera. It has trapped more men -into proposals than all the wiles of a generation of fond mothers." - -"But you don't love me," she said, her hands pressed against the lapels -of his jacket in self-defense. - -"On such a night as this," he said, "who could help but love you?" - -"Dennis, please let me go--I mean it--I shall call for help." - -His brow contracted with a sudden frown. "You come here," he said, "at -midnight--into a deserted conservatory ... with me. Then, because I do -what you knew from the start I would do, you suddenly decide to play -'Little Miss Prude from the Convent.'" - -"I--I should not have come. I did not want to, Dennis." - -His lips curved into a smile. "Then why did you?" - -Her eyes pleaded with him not to prolong the scene, but he was mad with -the joy of seeing this sensitive woman, who had so long kept him at a -distance, caught in the meshes of his fascination, and he held her in -his arms, confident of his power to sway her at his will. - -"I fought against it, Dennis," she said quickly. "But--I had to come. -Oh, why force me to say such a thing. Can you not see how unfair you -are?" - -She struggled to her feet, but he stood before her, barring the way to -the door. - -His breath came faster. This was a charming surrender! It had -gracefulness, novelty, charm.... Only, something in her eyes warned him -to come no closer. - -"I have admitted, Dennis Montague," she said breathlessly, "that I came -here because you fascinated me. It's true; you have always fascinated -me. But I tell you that down in my heart I loathe you, detest you, for -the coward that you are." Montague drew back as though fired upon by a -masked battery. "In all the years I have known you," she went on -furiously, as though fearing that her courage would leave her before -the finish, "you have done nothing that was not selfish, mean, and -cowardly--above everything else, cowardly. Look at the girls you have -known----" Montague interrupted her with an impatient gesture, but she -went on: "More than a dozen I could name have given you the depth and -the sweetness of their first love, inspired by you, called forth by -you. Do you realize what a woman's heart is and what she gives with it? -And you--you are too cowardly to face marriage, too cowardly to love -with your own heart--too selfish to leave women's hearts alone." - -Montague took a cigarette-case from his pocket. "May I smoke?" he said -coolly. - -"You are a coward about your profession as well," she hurried on, -ignoring his interruption. "Your mother, I know, had great dreams for -you. She planned, worked, sacrificed for you. Yet you are too much of a -coward seriously to face competition with what you choose to call 'the -little legal minds of the city.'" - -"And thirdly?" he said, lighting a cigarette. - -"Yes, thirdly," she said desperately, although his easy nonchalance was -fast undermining her courage, "you are not in the army. Yet no one -could say that Dennis Montague is not fit. I can only presume, like -every one else, that you are afraid." - -"And lastly?" He was still calm, although keener eyes than hers would -have noticed a dark, ominous flush under his eyes. - -"And, lastly," she said, unconsciously repeating his formula, "you -scoff at everything that is good and pure, sneering at religion, and -drawing yourself aside from your fellow-creatures as though they were -loathsome. Yet I say to you, Dennis, that there is not a man in the -slums whose soul isn't far, far richer than yours. It is only a coward, -afraid to face the real things, who scoffs at life." - -Weak from the effort she had made, her voice subsided into silence and -a cold sweat broke out on her brow and the palms of her hands. - -"Will you smoke, Vera?" - -"No, thanks," she answered faintly. - -"Do. It would soothe you." - -"No, I thank you." She repressed a sudden desire to fly from the -conservatory. She had become suddenly afraid of the cool, smiling -figure beside her. - -"As far as girls are concerned," he said quietly, replacing the -cigarette-case in his pocket, "just as long as they angle for us with -every artifice of dress and rouge and coquetry, so long will they catch -us and the consequences. As for the law, which my mother planned for -me, I regret that my father left me the instincts of a gentleman, not -of an attorney. I am not boring you?" - -She made no reply. - -"As for the army, I don't happen to be interested in the war. I -disapprove of the crudeness of our Canadian civilization. I disapprove -of England's lack of the artistic. I disapprove of German militarism, -Scotch bagpipes, Swiss cheese, Chinese laundries, and American -politics. Why should I fight for one when I disapprove of them all? As -for my fellow-man, I shun the ordinary man of the streets because he -does not think, read, or bathe often enough. I am not hostile to him; I -merely ignore him. I am not a coward at all, my dear Vera; I am merely -an artist among artisans." - -He bowed gracefully. "Let us return to the dancing," he said. - -With a frightened, inquiring glance, she took his arm, and without a -word they left the conservatory. At the door of the ballroom they -paused, and she laid a timid hand on his arm. It will ever be a mystery -to men how women can love and despise the same object. - -"Dennis," she said, "will you try to forget what I have said?" Her -courage had gone, fled before his coolness and the fascination he held -for her, though she had striven with all her womanhood to free herself -from it. - -"I wish to Heaven I could," he said grimly. - - -V - -The morning sunshine invaded the rooms of Dennis Montague with -pervading cheeriness. It was nearing the end of April, and a hundred -birds sang of the winter wonders of arid Africa, and of the witcheries -of the Nile, where Pygmies are at war with the butterflies, and the -great god Memnon raises his mighty shout to greet the dawn of day. - -Oblivious to the sunshine and everything but his thoughts, Montague lay -in bed, and sought to wrestle with the truth he had heard the night -before. It was impossible to dismiss the thing from his mind. His brain -throbbed with resentment, questioning, searching her words--striving to -convince himself that her charge of cowardice was the vituperation of -an unrequited love. But it was useless. He could explain her actions, -dissect her motives, applaud his own pose, but he could not eliminate -the feeling of personal nausea which clung to him, as though he had -suddenly sickened of his whole nature. - -A knock at the door interrupted the thread of his thoughts, and his -valet entered with a tray of breakfast-things. - -"Good morning, sir." Sylvester carefully rearranged the tray on a -little table beside the bed. "It's a beautiful morning, sir. There's -great news too." - -"What is it?" - -"Canadians 'ave saved Calais, sir--leastways they've stopped them for -the time." - -"They're in action, eh?" - -"'Orrible, too, sir; the paper says the Germans used poison gas." - -"Good God!" - -"Yes, sir--the French Colonials gave way, yelling that 'ell was let -loose, and the Canadians went up and 'eld the line." - -Montague put down the cup of coffee untasted. "What does it say--about -casualties?" - -"Why, sir it looks as if some battalions was pretty well wiped out. -'Ere's the paper, sir----" - -"No--no. I don't want to see it. Tell me--it says ... the Canadians -held against ... gas?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are our Toronto chaps in it?" - -"Very 'eavy, sir. It seems as if the 'Ighland Brigade got it the -worst." - -Montague sank back on the pillow, his face grim and pallid. - -"Come along, sir; 'ere's your breakfast." - -His master gazed at the ceiling. "Sylvester," he said listlessly, "for -a long time you have ministered to my body. What can you do for a soul -that is starving?" - -The valet beamed reassuringly. A large and varied experience as a -servant to young gentlemen had inured him to morning-after repentances. - -"That's all right, sir," he said, rubbing his hands genially. "A -bromo-seltzer will fix you up. 'Ello, sir!" The sound of a military -band drew him to the window. "It's one of the new battalions--blooming -near a thousand of them. Seems like 'ome, it does, when the Guards used -to do London in all their swankin' regimentals." - -A battalion swung past in steady rhythmical tread to the stirring -strains of the Welsh hymn of freedom, "Men of Harlech"--and there was a -youthful vigorousness about the men, a suggestion of unconquerable -manhood.... And on every man's face there was written pride and -determination. For their comrades had been tried at Ypres.... They had -held the line.... And, by the living God, the Hun would pay for that -foul gas given to the wind to carry against defenseless men. - -The last ranks of the battalion passed, and the music ceased as -suddenly as it had come. The birds resumed their chorus, and William -Sylvester his imperturbable mask of deference. Languidly Montague rose -from his bed and lit a cigarette. - -"Our civilization," he said quietly, "need not pride itself on raising -those men. Men have always been brave since the beginning of time. The -terrible failure of our age is that it has produced men like me--a -coward." - -Mr. Sylvester scratched his head. "Lord bless me, sir!" he ventured, -"you're not a coward. Why, look at the jump you took at last year's -horse show." - -Montague turned on him with a vehemence that the valet had never before -seen in his master. "I tell you I am a coward," he said fiercely. -"Don't I know that my place is with these men? In that battalion that -passed there are married men with families, there are only sons of -widows, there are brothers, sweethearts. Who is there to care if I go? -My death would not cause a single tear; and yet I stay--not that I am -afraid of bullets or death, but because I know that I should have to -sleep beside men who are filthy, unclean, and that I should grow filthy -too. I abhor it. I detest it. Yet I stand aside and let others go." - -"You--you are a gentleman, sir." - -"A gentleman!" Montague laughed raspingly. "My own definition last -night was 'a man with a valet and three addresses.' What a fool I was! -No, I am not a gentleman. I have never been one. The greatest gentleman -of all time was a carpenter. That is the truth I have to burn into my -soul." - -He sank into a chair, and shadows of fatigue marred his face. "Last -night, Sylvester," he said slowly, "I lay awake for hours, and -sometimes in the awful darkness that surrounds one when sleep refuses -to come, things seem clearer and more cruel than in daylight. Last -night I saw myself for the first time.... I do not say I shall -change.... It is too late, I think...." - -An hour later he left his flat, fully dressed, and strolled into the -sun-lit streets. A newsboy dashed past, screaming in strident tones, -"All night fighting--Canadian Line still holding;" and then, apparently -feeling the announcement needed identification, he shrieked, "All about -that great big European War." - -Montague heard his name spoken. It was the ex-bank clerk, the young -subaltern with the uninspired face. - -"Good-bye," he said rather shyly. - -"Where are you going?" - -"Marching orders," said the other. "We leave here to-morrow. By jove, -we've got something to fight for now!" - -Montague murmured his best wishes and moved on, but the words that kept -running through his brain were those of the boy's manager who had -written "A decent enough fellow, but lacking in initiative." - - -VI - -His walk, unplanned as it was, drew him towards the center of the city. -He mechanically avoided the streets that were crowded, and, like a bit -of flotsam on the ocean's surface, was guided and buffeted until, -turning down a quiet side-street, he emerged upon the corner of a huge -stone building. He glanced up, to realize that it was the Armories and -was about to change his course when a recruiting sergeant, noticing his -hesitation, stepped up to him. - -"Beg pardon," he said, "but was you lookin' to sign up?" - -"Sign up?" Montague repeated the words automatically. - -"Sure--sign up with the Brindle's Battalion." - -"The Brindle's Battalion?" - -"Come off that parrot stuff," growled Sergeant Saunders. - -Montague shook himself together. "I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. - -The sergeant shuffled uneasily. "Say, don't be so dashed polite," he -said, not ill-naturedly. "I'm here to get recruits. We're a tough -bunch; we're a rough bunch; but we're men. Our boys ain't strong on -polish or eddication, and they're no boozeless, non-smoking crowd; but -they're straight, and they're game, and they're men." - -"They're men," repeated Montague, dazed by a dizziness that seemed to -wrap himself and the sergeant in an enveloping mist. - -"That's what I said," reiterated Sergeant Saunders, mentally noting -that he would make Montague drop his sing-song if he ever got the -opportunity. "What do you say, old scout?" - -Montague glanced up. "Will you take me?" he said. - -"Will we take you?" A broad, brown hand grasped Montague's arm, and he -found himself being led into a room in the Armories, where he -discovered that his full name was Dennis Oliver Montague, that he was -twenty-eight years of age, that he was an Anglican, and that his Uncle -Charles was his next of kin. He further found that he was the property -of His Majesty King George the Fifth for the duration of the war and -six months after. "So 'elp me; and shove 'im in to the medico.--Glad -you signed up, my lad; you'll never regret it. We've got a man's job -for you, and--close that bleeding door, Nokes.--All right.--_Next!_" - -With whirlwind rapidity Dennis stripped for the doctor, who pronounced -him an excellent example of cannon-fodder; and, still dazed, he put on -his clothes and emerged into the open air, a red band about his arm -proclaiming to the world that he was now Private D. O. Montague, of the -Brindle's Battalion, C.E.F. He gasped, shrugged his shoulders, then -went home. - - -VII - -Sergeant Skimps surveyed the squad of recruits with the eye of a man -who had seen recruits for twenty years and was impervious to any -emotion on the subject. - -"You're soldiers now," he began, his dialect strongly reminiscent of -Bow Bells; "you're in the service now, so, kiss me, 'Arry, get your -'air cut, all of yer. We don't go in for Paderooskies in the harmy. -Then 'old yer 'eads hup and put yer chests hout has though you was -somebody. You ain't, but don't go tellin' no one." (A gentle murmur -greeted this sally.) "Halways respeck yer hofficers and -non-commissioned hofficers, and don't go slapping the colonel on the -back and hoffering 'im a cigar. You're in the harmy--that bloke at the -hend, spit out that there tobacco--g'wan!--a filthy 'abit on parade, -and it'll get C.B. for yer. Where do you 'ail from, hany'ow?--a nice -specimen, I don't think--chewing when a sawgeant's talking to yer. Now, -then, fall in--hanother 'arf-hour's drill." - -For five hours that day alternately Sergeant Skimps talked, and his -tired squad turned, marched, and wheeled about the gravel -parade-ground. Weary to the point of exhaustion, already deaf to the -interminable harangue of Sergeant Skimps, the hour of four-thirty found -Montague with his first day in the army finished. He had only one -desire--to seek his apartment, to feel the cool shower upon his body, -and to lounge in languid repose in his dressing-gown, soothed by the -inevitable cigarette. He broke away from the group, but was hailed by a -ruddy-faced Little Englander, who had made various overtures to him -during the day. - -"Going up?" said the other, his accent proclaiming his British birth, -tempered by ten years of Canadian citizenship. - -"Yes," said Montague; "but I'm in a hurry." - -"Right-o! I'm with you." He swung along beside Montague. "This is the -life," he said cheerily. - -"What?" asked Montague. - -"Soldiering--a dollar ten a day, short hours, and no work--what ho!" - -"Do you mean to say you like it?" asked Montague, wishing his companion -reeked a little less of his recent exertions. - -"Why not like it?" said Private Waller. "We're in it, ain't we?" - -"I suppose so," said the other shortly. - -Private Waller rubbed his hands together. "He's a sergeant, ain't he?" - -"Do you mean that strutting bounder who drilled us to-day?" - -"Lordee! don't let him hear you say that." The little man went pale at -the thought. "Say, if you don't like him, just wait until you see -Sergeant-Major 'Awkins." - -A cockney of even ten years' Canadian citizenship loses his h's when -excited. Montague began to wince under it, and wished a dozen times -that his companion would hold his tongue and give him a chance to -think, to separate the varied experiences of the day, and to edit his -thoughts. He shrugged his shoulders and acknowledged the greeting of -Mrs. Merryweather from a huge motor-car. Waller's eyes bulged. - -"I say, you know some swells, don't you? What was you--a chauffeur?" - -Montague considered. "No; I was a sort of social buffoon." - -Waller considered. "Something in the plumbing line?" he ventured. - -"Not exactly," answered Montague, and muttered, "Duration of the -war--and six months after--with plebs like this!" - -"I'm a carpenter by trade," vouchsafed Private Waller, and then emitted -a shout of delight. "I say," he cried; "blime, if it ain't the missus!" - -In a few moments they reached a little Englishwoman, not much more than -a girl, who was guiding a baby-carriage containing a chubby little -youngster of some two years of age. - -"'Ello, Bill!" she said. "'Ow's the army?" - -"Great," said her husband; "but meet my pal, Private Montague.--Private -Montague, meet my old woman." - -"Glad to know any friend of Bill's," said Mrs. Waller warmly. - -Montague bowed. "Thank you," he said gravely. "You are giving up a lot -in letting your husband go to the war." - -"You said I had to, Emily." - -The girl pouted. "'E would go." - -"But you wanted to go, Bill." - -"Of course; but I said----" - -"I know--about the biby; but----" - -"There you go again. Didn't you say I must?" - -"Oh, well, Mr. Montague"--the little woman looked frankly into his -gray-blue, unreadable eyes--"the biby's a boy, and when he grows up I -cawn't say to 'im, ''Arry, your father was a slacker!' Now, can I, Mr. -Montague?" - -He made no answer, but a thoughtful look crept into the hard, unsmiling -eyes. - -"Come and have a bit of supper, pard?" Private Waller rubbed his hands -together at the prospect. - -"No--no, thanks," said Montague hastily. He was longing for privacy and -the solace that comes with solitude. "Some other night, perhaps, when -we have our uniforms." - -"Good enough!" cried the cheery little man. "Then we'll do Queen Street -together and show the girls--what ho--oh no!" - -Montague raised his hat. "Good evening," he said. - -"So long," said Private Waller. "See you in the morning." - -When they were alone the husband turned to his young wife with an air -of pride. "What do you think of my pal?" he asked, with an air of -proprietorship. - -"G'wan," said Emily disdainfully; "'e ain't your pal." - -"He is, too." - -"'E ain't!" She tossed her head. "Don't I know one when I sees one; me, -the daughter of a footman in Lady Swankbourne's? 'E your pal! 'E -blooming well ain't--'e's a _gentleman_!" - -Far up the street Montague was striding towards his home, wondering if -any one had seen him with the Wallers, or had heard the garrulous -little cockney call him pard. Good heavens! what would his friends say; -or, for that matter, how could he face Sylvester if he had been seen by -that polite scion of servitude? "But I'll see it through," he muttered -savagely, biting his lip, "if only to prove that the under-dog, like -all other dogs, is a thing without a soul!" - - -VIII - -It was early in November about eighteen months later that Vera Dalton, -returning from her self-imposed task at a Military Convalescent Home, -found a letter awaiting her which bore the heading that will cast its -unique spell over us and our children for generations to -come--"Somewhere in France." - -Sorrow had come into her home, as it had into so many hundreds of -others, but it had mellowed, not marred her womanliness. - -Into the vortex of the nations she had seen the young men of Canada -flinging themselves with laughing voices and sturdy courage. With the -other women of the city she had watched the endless stream of youth as -though, across the seas, some Hamelin Piper were playing an -irresistible, compelling melody.... And still the cry was for -more--more sons, more brothers, more fathers! Month after month the -ceaseless crusade went on--month after month new battalions sprang into -being, trained a short time, and then made for the sea.... Always the -sea, waiting with its foaming restlessness to carry its human cargo to -the slaughter. - -The sea ... the sea.... - -It became the symbol of sacrifice to her. Across its turbulent expanse, -youth was forfeiting its life for the blindness of the past. The hungry -fire of war was being fed with human hearts.... But such is the nature -of fire that what lives through it is imperishable. - -A year ago Montague had gone with his battalion--without even a -good-bye. She had never heard of him, but the ordeal of the flames had -left him stripped of his artificiality as a tree stricken by a sudden -frost is robbed in a moment of its foliage. It is not only the best in -men that lives through war--vile passions vie with courage and great -sacrifice.... But artificial things succumb and crumple with the -scorching heat, and are blown into space by the breath of passions, -base or noble--it matters not--they are _real_. - -With trembling hands she opened the letter. - - "SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE. - - "MY DEAR GIRL,--In a couple of hours we are going over the parapet - to reach the German lines or gain oblivion--or worse. All around me - the men I have worked with, slept with, fought with, are writing - to, or thinking of, some loved one at home. I do not know whether - the love you once felt for me has died or not, but it was once - strong enough to hurt me as no one had ever done before--to tear my - soul out to where I could see its rottenness with my own eyes. I - could not live with myself after that, and as you must have heard, - for I believe it was a drawing-room jest for some time, I joined a - battalion composed almost entirely of men from the factories, the - workshops, and the streets. - - "It was partly a spirit of bravado made me do it, and partly a - desire to wrestle with truth. I cannot say how hard it was at first - to endure their company, their incessant, meaningless profanity. I - hated every one of them. To salute an officer in the street caused - me such humiliation that I thought of desertion a dozen times. From - my contempt of my fellow-soldiers to an understanding of their - nobility has been a hard, cruel road to travel; but I have traveled - it, and I think that somewhere on the road there is a cross whereon - my pride was crucified. Vera, my prayer is no longer that of the - Pharisee, but of the Publican. I was offered a commission; I was - urged to join the signalers or the machine-gun section, because - there I should find men more after my own stamp; but I refused--the - memory of your words made me stick with the men I started with. - - "I have found them crude, uneducated, unambitious, but true as - steel, and asking no better reward for their heroism than that - their 'missus and kids' will be looked after at home. I tell you, - Vera, that when the war is over we shall have to realize that it is - not only the consumptive and the imbecile that deserve care and - thought. There is a grandeur, a manhood, in the ordinary, unlovely, - unkempt man of the streets that our civilization has failed to - bring out, but war has done it. So much has war given to us; so - much has peace failed to give. - - "Life has become a riddle to me, still fascinating, but - fascinatingly puzzling. Perhaps I shall find the answer in No Man's - Land. - - "Good-bye, dear girl. Don't think from the tone of my letter that I - have forgotten how to smile (this is where real humor is found, for - humor was always a twin to tragedy). But I am forgetting how to - scoff. I suppose, though, that I haven't changed beyond - recognition, for I believe behind my back I am called 'The Duke.' - - "Like my comrades, I have written to a loved one at home. - - "I trust, Vera, that it is _au revoir_. - - "DENNIS. - - "D. O. Montague, Pte. No. 67,895, - "Brindle's Battalion, C.E.F." - - -IX - -"Four minutes!" A subaltern, who had reached the Brindle's Battalion -only the night before, stood with his back to the parapet, his wrist -turned so that he could study the face of his watch. Half-a-dozen -rifles spat at the German trench opposite. The attack was to be a -surprise, without preliminary artillery fire. - -"Three minutes!" There was a slight catch in the lieutenant's voice as -he watched the ominous course of the hand of his watch ticking off the -seconds. Dennis Montague turned to look at him, wondering where he had -seen him before, and idly conjecturing how he had earned that little -splash of color on his breast. - -A signaler looked up from his phone. "O.C. wants to know if everything -is ready, sir." - -"Two minutes! Has every man his gas-helmet, water-bottle, iron ration? -Right. Tell the O.C. everything's O.K." - -There was a coarse jest from a grizzled corporal; a few laughed -nervously. A little chap, who had lied about his age, caught his breath -in a sob he could not stifle. The young officer, who was beside him, -reached out his hand and patted the lad's shoulder. - -"One minute!" Every man crouched for the spring--there was a mumbled -prayer--a curse--a laugh. Montague took a deep, quivering breath, and -his trembling hand felt for the bayonet-stud to see that it was firm. - -"Come on, Brindles! Give 'em hell!" The subaltern leaped to the -parapet, stood silhouetted a moment against the dull, cloudy sky, and, -without a word, fell back into the trench--a corpse. And in that moment -Montague remembered him. He was the "decent enough fellow"--"lacking in -initiative." - -Cursing, shouting, laughing, the men scrambled over the breastwork, and -were met by a torrent of machine-gun fire that swept through their -ranks with pitiless accuracy. - -"Something's wrong!" yelled Major Watson from the center. "They knew we -were coming;" and he whirled around twice and dropped in his tracks. -Montague leaped forward with a hoarse, inarticulate shout, when he felt -a blow on his arm as though it had been struck by a red-hot iron. He -fell, but rose immediately, madly excited, muttering words that meant -nothing. The charge had stopped halfway, and all about him his comrades -stood irresolute, desperate, unable to advance, determined not to -retreat. - -"Come on," shrieked the adjutant, "for God's sake!" And he fell, -choking, vomiting blood, with a bullet in his throat. - -Without an officer left, the men looked wildly about, the bullets -spitting around them and taking their steady, merciless toll. With a -great feeling of ecstasy, Montague staggered to the front. - -"Steady, the Brindles!" he yelled hoarsely. "Shake out the line to the -left--cold steel, Brindles! Come on!" - -"Follow the Duke!" roared a dozen voices; and they hurled themselves -forward. - -They hacked their way into the trench, but their triumph was -short-lived. Things had gone badly on the left, and the signal to -retire flashed along the line. With horrible blaspheming, the Brindles -gave up their trench and started back for their own line. When he was -half-way across a bullet struck Montague in the shoulder, then another -in the thigh, and he sank to the ground unconscious. - -When he awoke the moonlight was streaming over the stricken field. He -bit his lip to keep from crying out at the sudden spasm of pain in his -shoulder, and then something he saw almost stopped the beating of his -heart. A figure was slowly crawling towards him, inch by inch, but -steadily, ominously coming nearer with every moment. His left arm was -helpless, and he tried to reach for his bayonet by turning over. - -"Pard, are you dead?" - -Never did sounds of sweetest music fall more gratefully on human ears -than the words uttered by Private Waller on the night of October 16, -1916, on No Man's Land, Somewhere in France. - -"Thank God!" cried Montague, his voice weak and quavering. -"Waller--old--boy." - -"Damn!" muttered Private Waller. The Germans, with customary -fiendishness, were searching the ground with rifle-fire to prevent any -attempt at rescue. "Are you much hurt, pard?" - -"I'm used up pretty bad," Montague answered weakly, and in incorrect -English. Things change in No Man's Land. - -"I'm the third as has come after you," whispered Waller; "Sykes and -Thompson got theirs." - -"Coming--for me?" Montague's voice trailed off into a querulous sob. - -"Sure--those of us as got back shook hands on it that we'd get the Duke -back dead or alive." - -Montague tried to speak, but only two scalding tears slowly trickled -down his cheeks. He was weak from loss of blood, and he was learning a -bitter lesson in the moonlight on the stricken field. - -"I'll hoist you up as easy as I can," whispered Private Waller eagerly, -"and I'll sort of crawl; and if they spot us, I'll let you down easy. -Come on, pard." - -Fifty yards--that was all--but fifty yards of unspeakable agony. The -blood flowed again from Dennis's wounds and matted over Waller's hair. -A dozen times he would have fainted, but he grit his teeth, and -crawling, grasping, falling, Waller took him to the edge of the trench. -And then a bullet caught the little man, and he dropped. - -"Good-bye, pard," he said. - -So died Private W. Waller, of His Majesty's Canadian Expeditionary -Force. - - -X - -Almost a year later, a one-armed man was walking along a quiet street -in the northern suburbs of a great Canadian city. He paused at a pretty -little cottage that nestled in a well-kept garden to speak to a young -woman whose black dress was mute testimony to her tragic bereavement. - -"'Ow can I ever thank you, Mr. Montague," she said, "for giving me this -cottage and going guardian to little 'Arry? And your wife, too, is that -kind and beautiful that after she comes--and she is in and out nearly -hevery day--I feel as if an angel had been 'ere. Well, if here ain't -little 'Arry with his face all dirty!" - -A sturdy urchin stumbled forward, and in some way the one-armed man -hoisted him to his shoulder. - -"Hello, pard!" said Montague. - -The little chap chuckled and pulled at his hat. - -"I often wonders," said the little mother, "why you always calls him -'pard.' Bill used to call you his pard, but I knew all along you -wasn't. You was a gentleman, Mr. Montague." - -"Mrs. Waller," said Montague, and his voice was very low and soft, "I -lay one night, wounded and dying, on No Man's Land. Your husband came -for me, and he called me 'pard,' and he died for me. Perhaps you may -understand a little of--what it means to me now." - -Tears, bitter tears, the heritage of war. Mrs. Waller wept silently, -and Montague's eyes looked past the garden, past the countryside, and -saw neither trees nor houses, but a strip of land guarded by wire -entanglements, and two lines of trenches where men lived, and laughed, -and learned, and died. - - * * * * * - -A little later the same one-armed man stood at a gate that gave -entrance to a splendid lawn. It was his home, and as he stood for a -moment drinking in the calm and peace of Nature at sundown, a girl -emerged from the house and came towards him with outstretched hands. - -Wonderfully happy, maimed, but filled with deep content, Dennis -Montague, the man who had scoffed, went forward to meet his wife, the -girl who had had the courage to hurt the thing she loved. And the -deepening rays of the setting sun spread a golden carpet for them to -walk upon. - - - - -THE AIRY PRINCE - - -I - -On a hillock that overlooked a mill-stream in Picardy, a girl of -sixteen was lying, face downwards, reading a book. The noise of the -water tumbling over the chute was a song to which her ears had grown -accustomed, but more than once she looked up as the October wind rose -and fell in a chromatic whine. A dark, thickening cloud crept sullenly -towards the earth, throwing its shadow on her book. - -She gazed up at it and sighed. - -A black cat, his green eyes glowing suspiciously in the fading light, -stalked from the mill-house and furtively watched a wanton leaf that -was flirting hilariously with the autumn breeze, until, still -coquetting, it was caught by the stream and carried to destruction. - -The cat's teeth showed for a moment in a sinister grin. Cautiously -measuring each step, he climbed to the top of the hillock, crouched -suspiciously as a blade of grass moved in the wind, then scampered -boldly up to the girl and settled ostentatiously upon the open pages of -the book, for a siesta. - -"_Tiens!_" The girl started, laughingly caught the offender by the ear, -and pulled him to one side. "Louis, you have very bad manners," she -said, speaking in French. "You come so, without asking permission, and -you go to sleep on _The Fairy Prince_. Wake up, Louis! To you I am -speaking." - -The cat opened his eyes, bent them on her with a reproving look, and -slowly closed them once more. - -"Louis! Wake up--listen! I will read to you _The Fairy Prince_, and if -you go to sleep I'll have you gr-r-r-r-ound into black flour. See there -now!" - -Louis scratched his ear with a hind paw, rubbed his nose with a fore -one, sneezed, opened his eyes to their widest, and generally indicated -that he was thoroughly awake--in fact, was not likely ever to sleep -again in this world. His little mistress gathered her shawl more -tightly about her shoulders, and, crossing one foot over the other, -shifted her position to secure the acme of comfort. - -"Now then, my friend, attention! This is all about a little girl--like -me, Louis, only she was pretty. Tell me, Louis, am I pretty, eh? Stop -yawning when I ask you a question. You sleep almost all day and all -night, and when you do wake up--you yawn. Pouf! Such laziness! So--this -is the story. This little girl, she lived like me in a house away, ever -so far away, from everything, and she was very unhappy. You understand, -Louis, she was _so_ lonesome. And every night she would cry herself to -sleep--as I do sometimes, because--because----Wake up, you wicked cat!" - -The feline culprit stretched his paws and sat up rigidly, like a -slumbering worshiper in church who has been detected in the act, but -tries to indicate that he has merely been lost in contemplation of the -preacher's theme. The girl frowned at Louis, and, laughing gaily, -rubbed her cheek against his head. - -Her laugh had hardly ended when, as her ear caught the note of -melancholy in the wind, she looked up, and her face, which had hovered -a moment before between a frown and a smile, was shadowed by a musing -expression that left her eyes dreamy and her lips drooping in the -slightest and most sensitive of curves. Her dark hair, rippling into -curls, fell back from a forehead whose fullness and whiteness added to -the spiritual innocence of her countenance. Without being faultless, -her face had an elusive mobility of expression that altered with each -mood as swiftly as the surface of a pool lying exposed to the caprices -of an April morning. - -"Is it not a pretty story, Louis?" Of a sudden the filmy dreaminess of -her eyes had lifted, and their dark-brown depths sparkled with life. "I -am so glad at the convent they made me learn to read. But it is -dreadfully difficult, my friend--there are such big words, you see. -Well, Louis, this little girl went one day for a walk to the top of a -hill--but you shall hear exactly how it is." - -She carefully found the place in the book, and, with a finger following -each line in case she should miss any of it, proceeded to read in that -ecstatic and unreal style of voice inevitable to young people when -uttering other thoughts than their own. - -"'... Reaching the top of the hill, the most beautiful little girl in -the world, whose eyes were brighter than stars, and whose lips were -redder than the heart of a rose' (like me, Louis--yes?) 'sat down on a -fallen tree and started to sing a song which she had learned from a -solitary shepherd near her home.'--It does not say, Louis, but I think, -perhaps, the music goes like this: - - "'Maman, dites moi ce qu'on sent quand on aime. - Est-ce plaisir, est-ce tourment? - Je suis tout le jour dans une peine extrême, - Et la nuit, je ne sais comment. - Si quelqu'un près.... - -"'And just then she saw a handsome cavalier approaching on foot.' (Is -it not exciting, Louis?) 'He was tall and young, and was the bravest -soldier in all France. He was so brave and handsome that every one -called him "The Fairy Prince"'--Listen, Louis, to the wind." - -The lowering clouds threw black shadows over the fields; the hurrying -water of the mill-stream turned the color of ink as it made, -shudderingly, for the fall of the chute. Through the ominous rise and -fall of the October wind came the sound of an aeroplane in the clouds, -to be lost a moment later in a boisterous rush of wind that swept the -girl's tresses. - -"Come, Louis, under my shawl--so! It is cold, is it not? As soon as we -finish this part of the story, we shall go in by the stove and work -until bed-time, then.... Do you ever dream, Louis?" - -The black cat opened one green eye and closed it with the solemnity of -an all-understanding wink. - -"I often dream, my cat"--again the wistfulness lingered about her -face--"and always it is of the world that is past the village.... Is it -that I must stay here and never, never, see that world but when I -dream? _Voyons_--what has all this to do with the Fairy Prince? I -continue, Louis: 'As soon as the handsome cavalier saw the loveliest -little girl in all the country, he came towards her....'" - -The droning sound grew louder. She looked up and watched the dark -billows of clouds hovering over the fields, when, suddenly, through the -heavy, underhanging mist, an aeroplane appeared, descended swiftly -towards the earth, straightened out its course, and soared into the -clouds again. - -She could hear the whirring of the machine as it circled round and -round, like an angry hornet outside its nest that has been entered by -an invader. The sound of the engine grew increasingly loud; again the -mists parted as foam from the prow of a ship, and again the aeroplane -swooped towards the earth. She could almost make out the features of -the helmeted occupant, when, with a deafening roar, the machine checked -its downward flight, and rose once more until the clouds took it to -their bosom and hid it from sight. - -"Louis!" Her voice shook. "I am frightened. Louis, we will go in and -pray to the Virgin, you and I. It may be an _Allemand_, and, so 'tis -said, they eat little girls--and black cats too." - -The whir-r of the engines grew angry with intensity, then fainter as -the machine rose to a greater height. Suddenly the droning ceased. The -tumbling waters of the chute seemed insistently loud, as though jealous -of the brawling monster that had dared to challenge its incessant song. -The girl had just stooped to resume her book when, above the whining -breeze, there was a sound like that of a saw-mill she had once heard in -Étrun--but it came from the air--far over by the village road. - -With a catch of her breath, she saw the aeroplane pierce the mists once -more, and realized that it was pointing towards her as it descended. -Rising to her feet, she pressed her hand against her mouth to keep from -screaming, while ominously, noiselessly (but for an occasional hum such -as wires give on a frosty night), the giant bird sped lower and nearer. - -"Louis!" she cried. "Louis!" - -Weak with terror, she grasped for the cat, to find that that ungallant -protector had bolted ingloriously to the mill-house. Unable to move, -she watched the monster as it touched the earth, bounded lightly, felt -the ground a second time, and staggered unevenly over a rise in the -ground. There was a final Wagnerian crescendo of the engines, and the -aeroplane stopped, motionless, less than fifty yards from her. - -The aviator climbed from the pilot's seat and looked about with a -puzzled air. He was dressed in a leather coat which reached to the top -of his riding-boots, and his head was encased in a leather helmet. -Raising his goggles, he looked toward the mill-house, and, for the -first time, caught sight of the girl. - -For a moment he hesitated, then made towards her, taking an -extraordinary length of pace for one of his medium build, and raising -his knees, as a bather will do when wading through surf. He paused, -irresolute, about five yards from her, saluted, unbuckled a strap, and -removed his helmet with a carelessness that left his generous supply of -light-brown hair standing straight up like the quills of a porcupine. -His face was rather long, and, except for his eyes, which twinkled -humorously, bore a look of exaggerated solemnity. Constant exposure to -the sun had tanned his face a vigorous brown, but his moustache and -eyebrows, which were of a size, appeared to have completely faded, and -stood out, glow-worm-like, against the background of tan. - -For a full minute they gazed at each other, the girl with parted lips -and heightened color, the new-comer's gravity slowly giving way to the -good-humored persistence of his light-blue eyes, until with a smile he -ran his fingers through his rumpled hair. - -"Phew!" he said. - -With something between a sob and an exclamation of delight, she clapped -her hands together twice, "_Ciel!_" she cried, "but I am so happy!" - -The mill-stream had ceased to shudder and had resumed its song.... With -an air of furtive preoccupation, Louis emerged from concealment and -proceeded towards them after the manner of an unpopular Mexican -President walking down the main street of an unfriendly city.... The -darkening shadows blended with the early approach of night.... And her -heart was beating wildly, joyously. - -Adventure had come to the lonely mill-house in Picardy--and, after all, -one is not always sixteen. - - -II - -"Will you please tell me where I am?" The young man spoke in French -with ease, but more than a trace of an English accent. - -"This is my uncle's mill." - -"Of course. And that road?----" - -"But the village road, monsieur--what else?" - -"And, Mademoiselle Elusive, what village may it be?" - -"'Tis where the church is, monsieur; and every Sunday I go there to -mass." - -The pilot produced a pipe and, extracting a pouch, proceeded to fill it -with tobacco. - -"I am lost," he said complacently. "My compass was shot away, and the -clouds are hanging too low for me to follow any landmarks." - -He looked about at the steadily thickening twilight. "How far is it to -the village?" he asked. - -"Five kilometers--and a little better." - -"The Devil!" He made a screen from the wind with the flap of his coat, -and lighting his pipe, puffed it with evident satisfaction. "I shall -have to leave the old 'bus' here. As a matter of fact, she's so nearly -'napoo' that I rather expected to come riding home on one plane, like -the old woman with the broom. But, mademoiselle----" - -"Monsieur?" - -"I am very tired and distinctly hungry, and I know of a mill-house with -a cosy fire in the kitchen, where a pretty little fairy that----" - -"There is no fairy--only Louis." - -"And who the deuce may he be?" - -"The cat--_le voici!_" - -He surveyed the feline with an air of tolerant gravity. "Do you think -Louis may object if I remain for supper?" - -"Ah--but no!" She laughed gaily, but a look of doubt changed the -expression of her features in a moment. "But my uncle--he never has any -one in the house. For many years I have lived alone with him. Only when -the curé comes, perhaps once a month, does any one visit the mill. My -uncle is very surly, a perfect bear, and often he gets drunk as well." - -The young man raised his absurdly light eyebrows. "A pleasant relative, -mademoiselle. And, pray, what is his grievance against his fellowmen?" - -"I know not, monsieur. All week he works alone, except when he takes -the flour to sell, but on Sundays he always goes to church and leads -the chanting. He was taught Latin by his father, who was a gravedigger -in Paris and learned it from the tombstones. So on Sundays my uncle, -from his seat in the chancel, performs the chants in such a terrible -voice that almost always some children scream with terror, and once -Madame La Comtesse fainted." - -The aviator relit his pipe, which had gone out, but did not remove his -eyes from hers. - -"Once," went on the girl, plucking a blade of grass and making a knot -with it about her finger, "two villagers, Simon Barit and Armand -Cartier, were requested by the curé, who is very small and weak, to -tell my uncle to sing no more. Ah monsieur, it was terrible!" - -"Yes?" - -"My uncle he is a very strong man; he threw Simon Barit into the -stream, and the other he chased almost to the village." - -"And so, like the mill-stream, he goes on forever?" - -"Ah, yes, monsieur, like the war--forever. Listen!" - -A great voice, sonorous as that of the fabled giant calling for his -evening meal of an Englishman, rent the air. The October wind seemed to -quiver to its lowest note, and the water racing over the chute was -quieter than it had been for hours. - -"I must go, monsieur. It is his supper he wants." - -"And may I not come too?" - -"Ah--but no! I am frightened." - -"Of me?" - -She raised her wide brown eyes to his, and her eyelashes, which so -jealously guarded those guileless depths, parted grudgingly, revealing -to him their full beauty.... Another roar shattered the air, and she -laid her hand upon his wrist. "You must not come," she said earnestly. -"He would throw you into the stream." - -His melancholy face gave way to a boyish grin. "If he did, -mademoiselle, my ghost would haunt him forever. All night it would sing -outside his window--and, in truth, my singing is no less terrible than -his." - -There was another roar, followed by a reference to the untimely decease -of ten thousand devils. - -Without a word, she reached for her book, and, throwing her shawl over -her left shoulder, hurried away. The aviator watched her girlish figure -with its unconscious grace, then, turning about, he strolled to the -machine, and, sitting on the side of the fuselage, surveyed its -bullet-punctured carcass. - -"Five kilometers and a little better," he soliloquized in English, "and -a doubtful prospect of a meal.... Contrast that with what the gods -offer here--a cosy fire, coffee, eggs and chips, I warrant, and the -daintiest of little maids--to say nothing of a musical uncle with an -amiable propensity for throwing visitors into the stream. By Jove, it -is chilly.... Over in dear old England they'll be roasting nuts and -telling ghost-stories to-night." - -The fast-thickening shadows deepened into the blackness of an October -night; the wind grew quieter, but there was a bite in the air that made -him draw his fur collar about his ears. - -"What excellent French the little lady uses," he went on. "I wonder who -her parents were, and why the deuce she has to live with this ogre. And -what eyes! Enough to make one invent new songs of Araby just to see -them sparkle and soften.... One moment sad, another tender--and always -lovely. Steady, the Air Force--you're becoming sentimental." - -He looked at the battered machine and shook his head; a solitary -raindrop lit on his face and slid down its surface like a tear. - -A belated gust of wind smote his face and left it moist. He rose in a -determined manner and adjusted his helmet. - -"_Adieu_, my Camel!" He took a last survey of the machine. "The kitchen -is calling to my appetite; a storm is brewing in the heavens; a pair of -dark eyes is urging all the romance within me; so--mill-stream or no -mill-stream--_mon oncle_, I come." - -He squared his shoulders and, with the rather absurd long stride and -the odd raising of the knee, made for the cottage door, from underneath -which a faint glow of light was timidly emerging. - - -III - -In response to his knock there was a roar from within, and the door -opened enough to show the young lady in the doorway. - -"Good evening," he said gravely. "I saw the light in here and decided -to accept its kindly invitation." - -She glanced over her shoulder; but the airman, gently putting her to -one side, entered and looked serenely about the room, which appeared to -be kitchen, dining-room, and parlor in one. Beside the stove he noticed -the stooped figure of a man, whose huge black beard straggled over a -suit of overalls that had once been dark blue, but had become a dirty -white from constant association with flour. - -"Good evening, monsieur." The airman handed his helmet to the girl and -proceeded to unbutton his coat. The miller's blotched eyes rose sulkily -to the visitor's face. - -"What do you want here?" His voice was nasal and slovenly, and there -was a hoarse growl in the words, as though his throat was parched and -rusted. - -"I am doing myself the honor of taking supper with you, monsieur." The -airman's face was full of melancholy dignity as he divested himself of -his coat. - -The miller's mouth opened, and a rasping, deep snarl resonated -disagreeably. "There is the village, five kilometers that way." - -"Ah--but that is five kilometers too far." - -"You cannot stay here"--the miller's voice rose angrily--"there is but -food for two." - -The Englishman tapped his pipe against his heel, and blew through it to -ensure its being empty. "Then, monsieur," he said, "you must go -hungry." - -The Frenchman rose to his feet and brandished both arms above his head. -"Go!" he bellowed, and swore an oath that comprised a reference to the -sacred name of one dog and the sudden demise of the afore-mentioned ten -thousand devils who, it appeared, rested heavily on his conscience. - -"Mademoiselle"--the young man turned politely to the girl--"I apologize -for this gentleman. Shall I throw him into the stream, or would a -cleansing spoil his particular style of mottled beauty?" - -The miller became eloquent. His language was threatening, blasphemous, -and deafening. His whole ungainly body vibrated with a fury which, at -certain moments, grew to such a pitch that he would raise his chin -upwards until all that could be seen was a forest of beard, the while -he emitted an unearthly roar that could have been clearly heard on the -village road. The girl, who had been making preparations for supper, -glanced timidly at him, but continued her work. The cat, slumbering by -the stove, opened his eyes dreamily as if some sweet strain had come to -his ears then settled to slumber once more. - -And the whole room resounded and quivered to the hurricane of sound. - -With an air of complete imperturbability, the intruding guest slowly -backed towards the table and became engrossed in the task of refilling -his pipe, though beneath the glow-worm eyebrows his eyes (which were -very clear and blue, as though his excursions into the last free -element of nature had blown all the dust and grime away) held the -orator in a steady look. - -"Fill your pipe?" he said cryptically, choosing a moment when his host -was swelling up with a breath that promised to burst his ribs. - -The response was startling. - -Exhausting the air from his lungs with the noise of steam escaping from -an overcharged boiler, the miller rushed blindly forward, crouching so -low that his beard against his discolored clothes suggested an ugly -bush against a background of slushy snow. - -With the precision of a guardsman forming fours, the airman took one -pace to the rear with his left foot and one to the right with his right -foot. This maneuver, successfully completed, placed the table between -himself and his assailant, and, tilting it dexterously, he swiftly -thrust that article of furniture forward, where it came into violent -contact with the irate miller's knees and shins. With an indescribable -howl the worthy man fell back in a paroxysm of agony, grasping his -knees with both hands, and rocking to and fro like a demented dervish. - -The airman bowed gravely to the girl. "I learned that," he said, "from -a gentleman by name of Charlie Chaplin. If you can oblige me with a -custard pie I shall hurl it at your uncle and thus complete the -Chaplinesque method of discounting violence." - -The young woman's brows puckered. The spectacle of her uncle's -discomfiture had not disturbed her so much as this new kind of a person -who could bow so courteously, whose eyes twinkled humorously, and whose -words were full of gravity on the subject of custard pies. She came of -a race that coordinated gestures and the play of features with speech; -but this stranger of the air--_Sapristi!_ - -The moaning of the uncle grew less and his figure stopped its rocking; -but his red, blotchy eyes looked furtively at the young man, biding -their owner's time for a renewal of hostilities. - -With an air of deep dejection the airman gazed at the unlovely -spectacle, then, very slowly, unfastened his holster and drew a -revolver. - -"Monsieur," he said, "I offer peace. The alternative is--that I fill -you full of holes--which would interfere with your singing. I intend to -have supper here, because I saw hens outside. If they have given no -eggs, we shall eat the hens themselves as a punishment. We are allies, -you and I; let us be friends as well. Monsieur"--he struck a Napoleonic -attitude--"_Vive l'Entente!_" - -The swarthy face of the miller, who had retained his posture on the -floor throughout, wrinkled hideously into a grin, which developed into -a roaring laugh that set a solitary vase jingling. - -With a doubtful air of appreciation, the airman surveyed him, his head -inclining dubiously to one side. "Come, monsieur," he said, after the -miller's unpleasant mirth had subsided, "you sit there--at the far end -of the table; mademoiselle--when you have given us the supper -things--here; and I, at this end. Just to show how completely I trust -you, my host, I will keep my revolver beside my plate; and should it be -necessary for me to blow your brains out during the meal, it will be -with the very keenest regret that I lose a friend for whom I have -acquired such an instantaneous and profound affection." - -Thus the young lady with the guileless eyes, the youth who had -descended from the clouds, and the stentorian miller with the painful -knees, sat down together for their evening repast. - -And the mill-stream, chuckling as it sportively tumbled over the chute, -made a pleasant serenade. - - -IV - -The airman glanced at his wrist-watch; it was half-past nine. The -miller slept by the side of the stove, his chin crushing his beard -against his chest. Louis also slept, having curled himself into a -black, furry ball, apparently possessed of neither head nor tail. A -clock brazenly stating the time to be five-thirty, ticked lazily as -though finding itself four hours behind the correct hour, there was no -chance of its ever catching up, and it only kept going because it was -the sporting thing to do. Just over the clock a picture of Marshal -Joffre gazed paternally on the quiet scene. - -Seated at the table, which was covered by a geranium-colored cloth, the -girl and the airman sat silent, while a shaded lamp lent a crimson glow -through which her deep eyes gleamed, like the first stars of a summer -evening. - -To her romance had come. - -She was no longer the miller's niece, but the girl who had seen the -Fairy Prince. All the sighs, all the questionings, all the longings of -her girlhood had culminated in this amazing adventure of a fair-haired -knight who, descending from the clouds, had proceeded to terrorize her -uncle who was feared for miles around. It was wonderful. And he was so -droll, this young man; and his voice had a little soothing drop in it, -at times, that left a fluttering echo in her heart. - -She had left the convent when ten years of age, on the death of her -mother. Her father--but then gossip was never kind. He was an officer -who had deserted his pretty little wife for another woman--or so rumor -had it; and her mother had died, a flower stricken by a frost. The -daughter had been taken by a relative, the owner of a lonely mill, and -for six years had lived in solitude, her horizon of life limited to the -adjacent village, her knowledge of women gained from the memory of a -sad, yearning face, paler than the pillow on which it rested, and an -occasional visit to the curé's sister. Of men she knew only her uncle -and the few villagers that had not gone to fight for La Belle France. - -From unquestioning childhood she had passed to that stage in a girl's -life when the emotions leap past the brain, fretful of the latter's -plodding pace. Her mind untutored, unsharpened by contact with other -minds, left her the language and the reasonings of a child; but her -imagination, feeding on the strange longings and dreams which permeated -her life, pictured its own world where romance held sway over all the -creatures that inhabited its realm. - -It is the instinct of a little child to picture unreal things--the -unconscious protest of immaturity against the commonplaceness of life. -But with the education of to-day and the labyrinth of artificiality -which characterizes modern living, the imaginativeness of childhood -disappears, except in a few great minds who, retaining it, are hailed -by the world as possessors of genius. - -Unhampered (or unhelped, as the case may be) by association with the -patchwork pattern of society, the miller's niece had retained her gift -of imagination, without which the solitude and the monotony of her days -would have been unendurable; until, blending it with the budding flower -of womanhood, she found mystery in the moaning of the wind. While the -sun danced upon the grass her spirit mingled with the sunlight; and -when the moon exercised her suzerainty of the heavens the poetry in her -soul thrilled to sweet dreams of lover's wooings (though her unreasoned -rapture often ended in unreasoned tears upon the pillow).... She found -melancholy in the coloring of an autumn leaf, and laughter in the music -of the mill-stream.... There were smugglers' tales in a northeast gale, -and fairy stories in a summer's shower. - -The doctrine of pleasure so feverishly followed by her sisters to-day -was unknown to her--as was its insidious reaction which comes to so -many women, with the dulling of the perceptions, the blinding of eyes -to the colors of life, the deadening of ears to the music of nature, -until they cannot hear the subtle melody of happiness itself, so -closely allied to the somber beauty of sorrow. - -"Little one"--the aviator's voice was very soft, so that the ticking of -the clock sounded clearly above it--"in a few minutes I must go. It is -a dark night, and of necessity I must get to the village to-night, and -be on my way before dawn." - -Her eyes were hidden by her drooping eyelashes. "You will return--yes?" -she asked, without looking up. - -He smiled rather wistfully. "'When the red-breasted robins are -nesting,'" he quoted slowly, "'I shall come.'" - -The clock ticked wearily on.... A few drops of rain fell upon the roof. - -"Monsieur"--the crimson in her cheeks deepened--"you must not smile; -but it is in my book, here." - -She took from the table _The Fairy Prince_, and handed it to him. He -gazed at it with a seriousness he might have shown towards a book of -Scottish theology. - -"You know, monsieur"--she appeared deeply concerned in the design of -the geranium table-cover--"I never leave the mill-house unless to -attend mass, and sometimes--perhaps you would think so, too--it is very -lonesome; no brother, no sister, just Louis and my uncle." - -He nodded, and, with an air of abstraction, his brow wrinkled -sympathetically, and his fingers strummed five-finger exercises on the -table. - -"It must be very dull," he said. - -"But no, monsieur"--her eyes looked up in protest--"not dull--just -lonesome." - -He sustained an imaginary note with his little finger, frowned -thoughtfully until his eyebrows almost obscured his eyes, then came -down the scale with slow and measured pace. - -"Well, little lady who is never dull, and what has all this to do with -_The Fairy Prince_?" - -"It is because I have no sisters, no friends, that--that I pretend. But -you do not understand." - -He played some chord with both hands. - -"Very young people and very old ones pretend," he said, with dreamy -sententiousness; "pretending is what makes them happy. But the -Prince----?" - -She smiled deprecatingly. "When I read, monsieur, I think that the -girl--there is always a girl, is there not?" He nodded gravely. "I do -not think it is she," she went on, "but myself; and when the book is -finished, and she marries her lover, then I am happy ... and dream...." - -"'We are such stuff as dreams are made of,'" he murmured, and trilled -with his first and second fingers. - -"So, monsieur," she continued, glancing shyly at him, "in that -book----" - -"There is a girl." - -"Yes. And a Fairy Prince who was very handsome." - -"Like me?" - -"It does not say, monsieur." - -"Ah!" - -"But I think so," she said earnestly, "for he was the handsomest man in -all France." - -"It said nothing of England?" - -"No, monsieur, only France." - -He nodded with great dignity, and motioned her to proceed. She leaned -forward with her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her -interlocked fingers. - -"To-day I was reading it to Louis," she said, "when, just at the moment -that they met--_vous voilà!_--you came. Monsieur," she said naïvely, -"are you a fairy prince?" - -He considered, with head characteristically on one side. - -"N-no," he said, "I cannot claim that, but----" - -"Ah, yes?" Her face lit up with delighted anticipation. - -"I am a prince of the air." He struck an attitude and held it. - -"Oh!" Her lips parted in ecstasy and her cheeks, which had been -crimson, became scarlet. "You--are really a prince?" - -"Of the air, mademoiselle." He folded his arms and tilted his chair -back. His face was still grave, but his voice had a sense of distance -in it, and his light eyes widened as though they saw the world his -words were picturing. "My kingdom is greater than all the kingdoms of -the earth, and when I ride, my steed with wings takes me towards the -stars. For sport I play with clouds and race the wind; at night the -moon gives me light; and when I travel there are no mountains to climb, -no lakes to cross. I go faster than the swiftest horse, and ride from -villages to cities, out into the country, and over the sea with a steed -that never tires." - -"But, monsieur," she cried, "this is wonderful!" - -He looked frankly into her eyes. "It _is_ wonderful," he said. - -For a few minutes neither spoke, and the soft symphony of raindrops -played through the quietness of the night. - -"Your Majesty," she said timorously, "are you very brave? You -understand," she hurried on as a slight blush darkened the tan of his -cheeks, "in fairy books the prince always fights a dragon or a wicked -giant." - -"Don't uncles count?" - -She made a pretty _moue_. - -"As a matter of fact," he said slowly, "there was a wicked Emperor--a -blustering popinjay with a madman's vanity--who decreed that all the -world should be his slaves, and sent his armies into France and Belgium -to enforce his will. My brothers heard of this, and came from countries -and dominions thousands of miles away. Across great continents of water -they sailed, and, with their brothers from the little Islands of the -North Sea, came to France...." - -"Your voice is very sad," she said tenderly. Her nature, that knew -every mood of a summer breeze, had caught the inflection of his words, -understanding by their tone what the vagueness of his words hid from -her mind. - -"So many have died," he said, looking away from her. "Almost every day -some one rides out into the sunlight to his death, young, brave, and -smiling.... Mademoiselle, it is wonderful how they smile." - -Tick--tick--tick. - -For more than a minute neither spoke, then, with a smile that was -strangely boyish, he squared his shoulders and ran his fingers through -his rumpled hair. - -"Ha!" he laughed; "what fancies get into a scatter-brain like mine when -the rain's a-pattering on the roof. If you will allow me, little Pippa, -I shall smoke." - -"Little Peepa?" she laughed delightedly. - -"Pippa," he assented, puffing smoke as he lighted the pipe. "I think I -shall call you that. You see, according to her biographer, Mr. -Browning, she worked in the silk-mills all the year, but one day she -had to herself, from dawn to midnight, and so as to enjoy it to the -full she--well, she pretended, like you." - -"But that is droll," she said eagerly, "for every Easter after Sunday, -my uncle, who is fatigued from so much chanting in the church, always -goes to Boulogne and becomes drunk for one whole day. On Wednesday he -returns. These six years he has done it always the same; and on the -Tuesday it is wonderful. I am alone with Louis, and we ask all the -people in our books to visit us." - -A sudden gleam of excitement lit his eyes. - -"The Tuesday after Easter?" - -"Always it is so." - -"Pippa," he said--but checked the remainder of his words. He placed the -pipe in his mouth and ran five-finger exercises at a terrific speed. - -"Pippa," he said again, then, ceasing his display of virtuosity, leaned -back and gazed at her from beneath his eyebrows. "Next spring, on the -Tuesday after Easter, I will come for you." - -She caught her breath deliriously. - -"Beyond the village road," he went on, speaking slowly and distinctly, -"I saw a big pasture-field at the top of the hill. Be there as the sun -is just above the horizon, and I will come in an aeroplane." - -"And, your Majesty, you will take me to your kingdom?" - -"For one day, Pippa, to the great city of London--the city that is open -to all who possess a golden key. We shall return by the stars at -night." - -"Then"--her voice shook, and the brilliancy of her eyes was softened by -sudden tears, as the rays of an August sun are sometimes tempered by a -shower, "then--at last--I am to see the world--boys and girls and -palaces and----" - -"To say nothing of prunes and potentates." - -"Oh, but, your Majesty, it is too wonderful. I am certain it will not -come true." - -He rose and quietly placed his chair against the wall. "Pippa," he -said, "there are only two things that could prevent it. One, if there -is a storm and--the other----" he shook his head impatiently. - -The girl took down a work-basket, and after searching its contents -extracted a tiny trinket. - -"You mean," she said, stepping lightly over to him, "that you might go -to join your brothers--those who smiled so bravely?" - -"We never know, Pippa," he answered. - -She reached for the lapel of his coat and pinned the little keepsake on -it. "'Tis a black cat," she said. "I saw it in the village store, so -small and funny, like Louis. It is a gift from little Pippa, who will -pray to the Virgin every night that her Prince may not be -killed--unless----" - -He looked at the little mascot, which dangled above a couple of -ribbons. - -"Unless?" he said. - -For a moment there was a flash in her eyes and a sudden crimson flush -in her cheeks that startled him. For the first time in her life she -felt the instinct of a tigress; that strange fusion of passion and -timidity that comes to women of her kind when it seems they may lose -the object of their love. - -"Unless he--forgets." The words were spoken between lips that hardly -moved. - -"By the sacred bones of my ancestors," he said, with a sort of sincere -grandiloquence, "I promise to come. So that I shall always think of -you, my Pippa, I will paint a black cat upon the machine, and woe to -the Hun who dares to singe its whiskers!" - -A few minutes later, the heavily coated figure of an aviator was -plowing its way through a drizzling rain, along a dark and solitary -road. His pace was extraordinarily long for his height, and he appeared -to be stepping over a perpetual array of obstacles at least one foot -high. - -By a casement window a girl, with hair like the dusk, stood gazing -towards the road that was hidden in darkness. Silently and motionless -she watched the melancholy drops of rain as they fell upon the glass, -until, unconsciously, her lips parted and she sang, very softly, the -little song taught to the maiden in the story by the lonely shepherd: - - "Maman, dites moi ce qu'on sent quand on aime. - Est-ce plaisir, est-ce tourment?" - -She paused in the improvised melody, and repeated the words slowly. - - "Est-ce plaisir, est-ce tourment?" - -And then the little mistress of the mill laid herself upon her bed and -wept profusely; but whether it was because she was happy or because she -was sorrowful, let those explain who understand the psychology of a -woman's tears. - -Downstairs, Louis and the miller slept profoundly. - - -V - -It was several months later that an airman emerged from his hut into -the chilly air of an April night that was lingering grudgingly over its -last hour of darkness. There was a sullen rumble of guns borne on a -restless breeze that stirred the long grass of the fields and set the -leaves in the trees whispering and quivering. The drone could be heard -of a lonely aeroplane returning from its night-ride over the enemy -lines.... Above the distant roll of the artillery, one gun stood out -like a pizzicato note on a giant bass violin. - -The airman passed the silent aerodrome, and, with difficulty -accustoming himself to the darkness, made out the shadow of a machine -in the adjoining field. He heard the sigh of cylinders sucking in the -petrol as the mechanics warmed the machine, and walked over to it. For -a moment he spoke to the men before climbing into the pilot's seat. -There followed the incisive monotone of the flier's incantation between -himself and the non-commissioned officer. - -"Petrol on: switch off." - -"Petrol on: switch off." - -"Contact." - -"Contact." - -The propellers were swung into action, hesitated for a moment, then -wheezily subsided. - -The incantation was repeated; the propeller blades coughed, and leaped -into a deafening roar. The mechanics sprang aside, and the machine, -stumbling forward for a few yards, turned into the wind. There was a -sudden acceleration of the propeller, a crescendo from the engines, and -the machine made swiftly across the field, rising as it attained flying -speed, and disappearing into the night. - -A few moments later its light was mixing with the dulling stars, and -the drone of its engine could be heard only at the whim of the breeze. - -"I wonder what the Black Cat's up to now," said mechanic No. 1, rubbing -his hands together for warmth. "Rum beggar, isn't he?" - -His companion slapped his breast with his arms and blew on his fingers. -"Mad as a March hare," he growled; "takes a two-seater out at this time -of night." - -"And did you notice the extra outfit?" - -"He's mad," repeated the before-dawn psychologist, "mad as a rabbit." - -"But he's a mighty stout boy," interposed the N.C.O., who was torn -between his duty of keeping discipline and his love of character study; -"and he sure puts the wind up Fritz when he takes off with his Black -Cat Bristol fighter." - -The blackness of night was beginning to give way to a dull and sullen -gray as the solitary pilot made a detour over the lines. In the gloom -beneath he could see a long crescent of orange-colored flashes where -the British guns were maintaining their endless pounding of the enemy. -Farther east was a large patch of winking, yellow lights, giving to his -eye the same effect as flakes of gunpowder dropped upon a heated stove: -it was the bursting of the British shells. Beyond that field of death -he could see other and larger flashes, and knew the Hun was replying in -kind. - -Everywhere the darkness was being penetrated by long, rocket-like -lights with a white, starry burst at the end, and, as though to give -variety to the scene, a few red and green bursts mingled garishly with -them. - -To the airman, from his refuge of height, it all combined in an uncanny -pageant of fireworks--a weird spectacle of death, as though hell had -opened and the passions of men were feeding the flames to make a -devils' holiday. - -A searchlight woke him from his reverie. A couple of anti-aircraft guns -barked at him. With a smile he noticed the rapid approach of morning's -light, and, turning to the west, he set his course by the compass and -made for the lonely mill-house of Picardy. - - -VI - -From a meadow at the top of a hill, a girl watched the horizon of the -east as the first glow of daylight heralded the arrival of Aurora's -chariot. The hurried walk from the mill-house and the climbing of the -hill had set her pulses throbbing with vitality, and as she watched the -dull gray give way with the promise of dawn, a wild, unthinking spirit -of exaltation seized her. Like the Pippa of Browning's song, she felt -her spirit rise with the triumph of nature. - - Day! - Faster and more fast, - O'er night's brim, day boils at last: - Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim - Where spurting and suppressed it lay, - For not a froth-flake touched the rim - Of yonder gap in the solid gray - Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; - But forth one wavelet, then another, curled, - Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, - Rose, reddened, and its seething breast - Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. - -But he had not come--her Prince with the solemn face and the laughing -eyes. Day after day, through the long winter, she had lived for this -hour, thrilling over it, picturing it, dreaming of it--both awake and -asleep.... And he had not come. - -Suppose--supposing---- - -Her heart leaped painfully. She had heard a sound like the humming of -an insect--faint--then more clear. The hum became a drone, and in sheer -intoxication she reached her hands towards the east as the sun, well -above the horizon, illumed the sky with gold-red flames. Blinded by its -brilliancy, she turned away; but her ear heard the cessation of the -engine as the pilot brought his machine towards the earth. She knew -that he must be approaching her; yet she kept her face averted, on some -caprice of sixteen years, until she heard his voice calling, a few -yards off. - -He bowed very low as, with lowered eyes, she gave him her hand; then, -indicating a coat on his arm, he leant towards her, with some effort -making his voice heard above the impatient throbbing of the aeroplane's -engine. - -"Take off your hat," he cried, noticing with quick approval the pretty -costume she wore (for however poor she may be, no French girl is -without one becoming frock), "and slip your curls into this helmet. -It's the largest I could find." - -She did as she was bidden, laughing delightedly. - -"Now, youngster, climb into this." - -He wrapped her in a fur-lined leather coat, and after buttoning it -securely, lingered for a moment over the amusing and dainty picture she -presented. Then, picking her up in his arms, he carried her over to the -machine and deposited her in the observer's seat, fastening the belt. -He was just about to climb into his place in front, when, changing his -mind, he leaned over to her and placed both hands on her shoulders. - -"Frightened?" he smiled, speaking so close to her ear that a truant -curl brushed against his cheek. - -She shook her head decisively--for a considerable period she had been -beyond the power of speech. - -He looked into her eyes, which seemed to have borrowed something of the -sunlight, and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.... And -Mademoiselle Pippa, niece of the absent miller, would have gone -straight to the moon with him had it been his wish and in his power. - -She watched him wonderingly as he lifted a heavy sand-bag used as -ballast, and dropped it on the ground. The next moment he was in the -pilot's seat, there was a crescendo of the engine, a waddling sensation -as the aeroplane went forward, the sudden development of the crescendo, -the burst of speed, and.... - -The earth was receding! - -She caught her breath, and hid her face in her hands to stifle a cry -and keep the sight from her eyes. She had been afraid that she would -faint with dizziness, and for a full minute sat, terror-stricken, -until, gaining courage, she tremblingly parted two fingers and cast a -timorous glance below. A cry escaped from her--but it was not one of -fear. - -Beneath her, though she was not conscious of height, the countryside -spread, a great masterpiece of color, the light brown of plowed fields -standing out vividly against the green of meadows where sheep (she -laughed out at the thought) were huddled in little groups like peanuts; -roads had become paths, and cottages were dwarfed to miniature -dwellings for the tiniest dolls. - -But--she felt no height. - -Only, the landscape, refreshed after its long winter repose, kept -closing in--closing in, displaying new beauties every minute, as though -she were in real truth a Fairy Princess summoning villages and rivers -and farms into one vast tapestry of nature. - -And this was France! As far as the eye could see, it was France, the -mother of greatness. For the first time she pictured the wide, charred -plains where the Hun had been, and scalding tears hid everything from -her sight. - -Several times her cavalier of the clouds had turned around to see that -she was not frightened, and, as often as he did so, she nodded -excitedly, and waved both hands after the manner of an orchestral -conductor calling for a fortissimo. Once he shut off the engines, and -they seemed to lie in the wind, a becalmed ship of the air. - -"All right?" he queried inelegantly. - -She tried to think of some word to summarize her emotions, but, failing -utterly, raised her goggles and thanked him with her eyes. A woman's -methods are not affected by altitude. - -It seemed to her that they had flown for an hour, when, in her tapestry -of landscape, she found the gradual inclusion of the steeples and the -roof-tops of a city, the streets of which gave the impression of having -been drawn with a brown crayon with the aid of a ruler. The aeroplane -appeared to be turning with the wind, and she grasped the side of the -fuselage, when the whole scene was obliterated by a sea of billowy foam -that left her cheek wet. She laughed with delight, and reached out with -her hands, as though she would grasp the foam and compress it like snow -in her fingers. She sang and clapped her hands in sheer joyousness. She -was alone with her Prince in a world of dreams. The billows of foam -grew less dense, became a mist through which light gleamed, and they -emerged once more. Beneath them lay the Channel, shimmering in the -April sun. The magic wand drew the Strait to her gaze as it had done -the fields of France... Suddenly there was no throbbing of the engine, -and they seemed to float, motionless, in space. - -He turned around and pointed to a border of white that lay against the -blue of the water. - -"_Enfin!_" he cried. "England!" - - -VII - -There was a knock at the door of "The Plough and Crown," which, in -spite of its similarity to the title of a treatise, is the name of an -exceedingly cosy little inn less than twenty miles from the outskirts -of London. The landlady answered in person, presenting just the stout, -apple-cheeked, buxom appearance that any one would expect from the -owner of so cheery a hostelry. - -"Good-morning to you, sir--and to you, miss," said the estimable woman, -as the unlocked door revealed an airman of solemn mien and a blushing -young lady whose hair had been blown into utter and captivating -disorder. - -A very small dog appeared, irritably, from some subterranean passage, -and taking in the sight of strangers, proceeded to bark with such -energy that, with each effort, he was shunted several inches to the -rear, like a gun recoiling after discharge, until from very ill-temper -he barked himself completely off the scene and out of this history. - -"Good-morning, madam," said the aviator. "This young lady and myself -would like to have breakfast at your house." - -The girl glanced furtively at him. It was the first time she had heard -him speak in English. - -"Bless your baby faces!" cried the good woman. "Come in out of the -chilly morning; though what you be doing at this hour is beyond the -likes o' me to fathomate" (a word which performed its function by being -thoroughly understood). - -She led them into the coffee-room, where he removed his coat and -helmet, and threw them, together with the girl's flying-costume, over a -chair. A sleepy-eyed and slovenly young woman-of-all-work appeared on -the scene, and proceeded to build a wood fire in the grate; while the -landlady, after the manner of her kind, bustled about, shifting chairs, -colliding with the fire-making girl, removing glasses from the bar to -the table, from the table to the shelf, and back again to the bar -again, all the while talking incessantly, or making comfortable noises -when words failed her (which was very seldom), and in short, giving -that feeling of hospitable activity handed down from the good old days -when passengers used to arrive by coach at "The Plough and Crown." - -"Madam," said the flying-man, seizing a moment when a more than usually -severe jolt against her assistant had deprived the good woman of -breath, "I must telephone the aerodrome at Hounslow to send for my -machine, so I shall stroll to the post-office down the road. In the -meantime--this young lady speaks no English----" - -"Bless her heart! What heathen country----" - -"----speaks no English," he persisted, "and has traveled a long -distance in the air----" - -"Well, I've often said that----" - -"----in the air," he repeated, stifling her philosophy in its birth, -"and I shall be grateful if you will give her any attentions that your -kind heart may suggest. She is cold, and I suppose she wants to make -herself look pretty." - -"Leave her to me, the sweet innocent. If she were my own daughter, me -not having any, but----" - -"When I return, may we have breakfast?" - -"A simple breakfast 'twill have to be," said the hostess, emitting the -words with a forcefulness reminiscent of a geyser that has been -supporting on its chest a mountain which has obligingly shifted its -position. "Things is awful bad, and the Government don't trust no one -these days. But I'll see what I can get for you two children, for -you're an officer gentleman, and my own good man's in the army--London -Scottish he is, though he ain't any more Scottish than the Pope of -Rome; but he always had a fine figure, had my man--Jacob Wilson is his -name, for thirty year owner of "The Plough and Crown," which always is -welcome to them as wants a pint o' bitter or a bed for the night, and -always will be as long as Jacob Wilson or me is to be found in the -taproom when opening-time arrives." - -After this announcement of the past and future policy of "The Plough -and Crown," the worthy woman seized a chair that was innocently gazing -out of the window, and placed it directly opposite a highly colored -picture of a young lady in pink, talking to a blue young gentleman, -while a yellow horse, in proportion a little larger than the horse of -Troy, looked soulfully at them over a hedge. - -Having done this, she rested her hands on her hips and sighed like a -woman who knows she is overworked, but is resigned to her fate. - -"Excuse me," said the airman politely, then turned to his companion, -who had been staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the activities of -Mrs. Jacob Wilson.... Frowning heavily at his young passenger, he -inserted his pipe into his mouth, and left the inn without another -word, sauntering along the roadway, where hedges and meadow-larks and -cosy thatched cottages were combining in the merriest of madrigals on -the beauty of Old England. - -Upstairs, in "The Plough and Crown," Pippa's toilet was being -superintended by the estimable proprietress, whose hospitality, -surmounting the difficulty of language, poured out in a stream of -garrulity. - -She described to her little guest how Mr. Jacob Wilson first appeared -in kilts, causing her (Mrs. Jacob Wilson) to throw her apron over her -face and bid her lord and master go upstairs and clothe himself in -propriety. She further confessed that he was a poor correspondent -(though a man of deep intellect, for he was given to long spasms of -silence); but every time he wrote from the trenches, which was once a -month (though one month he had written twice, but in September--or was -it October?--he had not written at all)--at any rate, he always said -that he had a cold in his head and would she send his medicine, which -he had used for eight-and-twenty years, and which had never failed to -cure him. - -After this testimony to Mr. Jacob Wilson's recuperative powers, despite -his susceptibility to colds, his wife became confidential, and told the -girl of the adoration showered on her during her honeymoon by the -aforesaid absent gentleman, together with other and romantic details -which, being told in the strictest confidence, naturally have no place -in these pages. - -And the little girl from the Picardy mill-house listened. She may have -understood that somewhere in the landlady's bountiful breast a noble -heart was beating, that behind her cheerfulness lay the shadow of the -trenches, and that any moment "The Plough and Crown" might be robbed of -the good man who had marched away with the London Scottish. - -She may have understood less than that--or more. Who knows? - -Half-an-hour later the Airy Prince returned, and they sat down together -to a breakfast served to the tune of chortling fowls and the neighing -of a nearby horse, while the fire chuckled and crackled in enjoyment of -some joke of its own. - -"Well, Pippa," said the Black Cat, seizing a moment when Mrs. Jacob -Wilson had absented herself from the room, "and what do you think of -the English?" - -The girl of the mill-house pictured the only two she had met. - -"I think," she said timidly, "that you are--how say you it--great -talkers, yes?" - -"Bless my soul!" said he, cutting a loaf of bread with the melancholy -of an executioner beheading an esteemed relative; "aren't we?" - - -VIII - -The train for London came round the bend, and drew up, panting, beside -the platform. The airman and his little companion glanced into four -compartments which were completely filled, and, hearing the admonition -of the guard, were forced to enter a first-class carriage containing -five occupants, who glared at the intruders with that triumph of -rudeness found only on an English railroad. - -"Sorry," murmured the airman, and added something unintelligible about -the train being full. A fierce-looking gentleman looked up from the -_Morning Post_ and lowered the window to its fullest extent. An anemic -woman opposite sneezed and fixed a devastating stare on the fierce -gentleman. A very young officer of the Guards felt his lip, and stroked -that portion of it which was pregnant with promise of mustache, while -his mind wandered into the future. Would he cut Lady Dazzrymple's -beastly dance, and content himself with only three that evening? Or, -dash it all! should he go the whole works? What a bore!... A young -woman with a face of deep intensity read the _New Statesman_, every now -and then looking up from its pages (as a horse drinking at a trough -will raise its head between draughts), apparently defying any one to -challenge her on anything. - -With his hands lazily in his coat-pockets, an Australian captain leant -back in his corner and took in the freshness and winsomeness of the -French girl, with an admiring frankness that inspired sudden doubt in -the airman's mind whether it was really desirable to maintain a huge -Empire. - -For ten minutes, in a funereal silence, the train hurried towards the -Metropolis, while the temperature of the compartment, both actually and -temperamentally, dropped to freezing-point. Once, as an unusually -pretty meadow met her eye (and where are there such meadows as one sees -in England?), Pippa emitted an exclamation of delight and clapped her -hands. - -A look of horror from the fierce gentleman caromed off the _Morning -Post_ to the face of the offender. The anemic woman stopped blowing her -nose, and concentrated all her energies on a disdainful sniff. The very -young Guardsman brought his eyes out of the future, and stared right -through the girl--rotten form, what! The intense young woman frowned -and made a mental note that she would write an article on "The Girl of -To-day"--or, perhaps, a letter to the _New Statesman_ would be more -effective. One never knew, these degenerate times, if an author was -writing from conviction or merely writing for a living. - -The Australian smiled generously, and burrowed his hands deeper into -his capacious pockets. - -Very timidly the erring daughter of France shifted closer to her -protector, and her hand reached appealingly for his, which caused all -eyes but the Australian's to disappear like the legs of a troupe of -Japanese acrobats from a cross-bar. - -"Your Majesty----" she said. - -"Hush, Pippa. You must call me just 'monsieur.'" - -"But why?" - -"Well--you see, a prince is very important, and----" - -"Then that is why these people are so solemn? They know you are a -prince, yes?" - -The airman tapped the bridge of his nose meditatively. "N-not exactly," -he said. - -"But they are so sad." - -"They are," he agreed; "but my countrymen sink to their greatest -melancholy when they travel." - -"But why, monsieur?" - -"That," he said, "I cannot tell you. Perhaps traveling on a train -reminds them of the brief journey of life itself. At any rate, all -really well-bred people who travel resent others doing the same thing." - -"What are well-bred people?" - -He gazed at an advertisement for pyjamas. - -"Well-bred people," he said sententiously, "are those who base their -superiority on such intangible things that they leave nothing on which -one can contest it. Do you understand me?" - -"No," said Pippa frankly; "but I like your voice." - -"Thank you, little one. It was one of the first things I learned at -Harrow--to say something well rather than something worth hearing." - -"I wonder if Louis had his breakfast," said she, at a tangent. - -"I think so," he said, with a man's vagueness towards domestic economy; -"but, to finish my definition of well-bred people----" - -"Louis will be angry at my leaving him," she said musingly. - -"Pippa, you must listen to me," he said gravely. - -"But may I not talk as well?" - -"Really charming women only listen." - -"_Tiens!_ What a droll country! Do these people understand what we -say?" - -"I don't think so, youngster. Most Britishers look on foreign languages -as immoral." - -The fierce gentleman, who had been growing bluer with cold every -minute, suddenly endeavored to suppress a sneeze by smothering his face -in a large handkerchief, with the result that he produced a combustive -cohesion of sounds, which caused a gurgle of delight from the miller's -niece. Violently blowing his nose, the irate one resumed his newspaper, -first turning his coat-collar about his ears as the bracing April air -blew full against him, and looking as genuinely bad-tempered as his -somewhat immobile features would permit. - -"But he is amusing, is he not?" cried the little French girl, then -shrank back as the New Statesmanist fixed her with a look of ineffable -and disapproving intellectuality. "Monsieur, why is it she looks at me -so?" - -The aviator transferred his scrutiny from pyjamas to a picture of -Canterbury Cathedral. - -"She is the New Woman," he said; "and all New Women resent the Old." - -"I am old?--but no!" - -He lowered his eyes from the cathedral to her happy, flushed face. - -"Pippa," he said, "you are as old as Cleopatra." - -"Cleo-patra. How many years has she?" - -"Oh, about two thousand." - -She pretended to be offended, and ended by looking such a thoroughly -engaging little figure, with her dark hair and innocently intriguing -eyes, that the airman resumed his study of architecture from sheer -self-defense, and the Australian contemplated the odds against his -knocking the student of cathedrals on the head, and, _à la_ caveman of -old, eloping forcibly with the damsel. - -Chimney-pots! Hundreds of them--thousands of them. - -Chimney-pots! Standing like regiments in stiff and orderly array, -waiting for a review that never took place. - -Chimney-pots! Short ones, stout ones, crumbling ones; gray, blue, and -indigo ones; pots of no color at all, and just as little character. - -Chimney-pots! Racing by, mile after mile; industrious fellows, some of -them, puffing out black smoke as though the mist over London were their -private and personal concern. - -Chimney-pots! - -"Waterloo!" yelled a dozen voices, and the bewildered Pippa heard a -stamping of feet, a rattling of trucks, the din of two porters in a -semi-religious discussion concerning the right of way, the din being -aided and abetted by a young gentleman possessed of a voice which had -recently broken, who howled, alternately in a deep bass and a shrill -treble (giving the general effect of a Swiss yodeler running amok), -that, in exchange for coin of the realm, he was willing to barter light -refreshment--very light refreshment indeed--in the shape of small -biscuits or popular magazines. A slim girl porter, far too weak for her -task, dragged a trunk from the van for a vigorous indispensable, who -stood by with sixpence in his hand. A sailor kissed a rosy-cheeked -woman with moist heartiness.... A taxi-driver, outside the station, -took a sudden and violent dislike to a horse-cabby, casting loud -aspersions on the latter's respectability, and hinting at a doubtful -pedigree; to which the other replied simultaneously, his remarks being -quite unintelligible, but apparently giving himself the greatest -personal satisfaction. Down the road a street-piano burst forth into -"The Lost Chord." - -"Pippa," said the airman, opening the door, "we have arrived. The -Prince with the Golden Key welcomes you to London." - -"_Mon Dieu_," said that young person, "what a noise!" - - -IX - -It was nearing the middle of the afternoon when the airman succeeded, -after some difficulty, in piloting his little companion across -Piccadilly Circus to Regent Street. It is something to be noticed in -that most cosmopolitan of districts, but more than one turned to watch -the solemn officer of the formidable stride and the French girl whose -wealth of hair and length of dress (barely revealing her ankles) made -her seem a vignette from some past century novel. - -It had been, for her, a day of wonders. - -From her lonely little world, peopled with make-believe inhabitants, -she had been transported through the air to the center of reality. -London, the "Bagdad of the West," huge, monotonous, garish, -beautiful--what term is there in language that could not be applied to -that great gathering of human souls?--London sprawled before her gaze -in a yellow sunlight which played such tricks with its tired buildings -that age-old stone looked bright and cheerful, and the very dust seemed -like the coating of frost when a thaw succeeds a freezing night. - -Before her eyes the pageant of passions passed in endless array. -Poverty and hypocrisy rubbed shoulders with ostentation, greed, and -lust. Streets, crowded with a suffocating similarity of stodgy -dwelling-places, gave way to parks, fragrant with the atmosphere of -romance. Vice stalked unashamed through the thronged streets, and dull, -tired faces, leaving monotony in their trail, passed their next of kin -without a glance, those to whom discouragement had come as some -incurable disease. Sinister, sensuous eyes looked into hers, and -children pure in mind as snowflakes laughed as they walked beside their -nurses. - -For the sun was in the heavens--and the same warmth that brings the -beauty of a narcissus into being gives life to the noisome, crawling -things that feed on decay. - -London's costume drama was at its height; uniformed men and girls -paraded in their thousands. There were loose-limbed Colonials, -slouchily-smart British Tommies, amazingly serious Americans; -bus-girls, land-girls, girls on motor-cycles, and girls driving -ambulances; graceful French officers, swarthy Italians, impassive -Japanese, and ruddy-faced British sailors seeking a day's diversion -from the sentry-go of the sea. - -From the great, throbbing city a babel of voices rose, like the sound -from a gigantic mart; hurrying, restless vehicles worried their way -through the maze of traffic; Youth with its carelessness of years -elbowed Age, waiting with weakening tread the call of the Reaper to -whom all men's lives are but sands that run their little course. Over -the whole city brooded the Past. - -Take all the comedies of the centuries; gather the tragedies of -history; piece them together with the fancies of a madman's brain--and -what could they offer in the play of human emotions that would compare -with one hour of London's life? - -They had gone a little way down Regent Street when an exclamation of -delight escaped from the girl. - -"_Tiens!_" She caught the airman by the arm. "Papa Joffre!" - -A one-legged man with outstretched cap was seated on the pavement, and -beside him were five colored drawings vaguely suggesting men of the -times. - -"But he is wonderful," cried the girl. "See--it is Papa Joffre himself! -Monsieur, you will give him a little present?" - -The airman presented the art-exhibitor with half-a-crown, receiving a -gin-and-watery blessing in return, as they strolled on their way. - -"She's the fust one," muttered the cripple, preparing to close business -for the day, "as 'as recognoized that there dial of Juff's this last -four month. It were a rotten drawink and no mistike. Blime! I'll give -that cove this 'arf-crown to draw me a picter of this 'ere General Fush -as what is getting hisself talked abaht." - -He saw a shadow on the pavement and held out his cap. A Jewish rabbi, -with sallow brow and spiritual face, passed without a glance, his -flowing robes oddly reminiscent of the Levite in that Past to which the -age of London is mere immaturity. - -The wanderers turned into Pall Mall, and, traversing it, reached the -Strand, where the meeting of human currents forms a whirlpool. -Threading their way with difficulty, he felt the restraining hand on -his arm, as he had done two hundred times that day. The girl had -stopped opposite a hollow-eyed old woman offering violets, from her -seat on a box, to the thousands who cared as little for her flowers as -for her. - -Once more he produced the inevitable coin, and again received a -blessing, as trembling, unlovely fingers clutched it. He was about to -turn away, when something almost attractive in the wrinkled face held -his attention. The woman had looked searchingly at the girl, then into -his eyes, and, touched by sudden sympathy, there was a faded echo of -comeliness in her features that came and went, like a glow caused by a -breath of air on ashes that seemed dead. - -"What is it, mother?" he asked, holding the girl's arm. "Business bad?" - -"Yes--yes," answered the woman in a low, weak voice; "but it's her I'm -thinking of. Take care of her, laddie, won't you?" - -The girl, unable to understand them, leaned over and smiled into the -wrinkled face. With a little air of embarrassment Pippa picked -half-a-dozen violets from her cluster, holding them out to the woman, -who took them with strangely twitching features, just as an encircling -current of the Strand caught them in its grip and carried them away. - -Although they had rested at noon in a quiet hostelry in Oxford Street, -after visiting Kensington Gardens where the delightful statue of Peter -Pan pleads for belief in fairies, it was obvious that the strain of -countless impressions was beginning to bring fatigue to his charge. -Accordingly the airman paused in the doorway of a theater and drew her -away from the traffic's turmoil. - -"It is three-thirty," he said, "and there is a performance inside." - -Her eyes, which still held their tenderness for the woman of the -flowers, sparkled happily. - -"That is delightful monsieur. Is it a play as I read in my books?" - -"Alas, Pippa! there are no more plays--only revues." - -"But there is music?" - -"There is an orchestra." - -"It will be droll, monsieur?" - -"I doubt it, little one; but we shall see." - -Purchasing tickets from a lordly being in a cage, they entered the -theater, where a huge audience was rocking with laughter at the three -hundred and sixteenth performance of _Oh Aunt!_ They took their seats -just in time to hear the best of a scene between two comedians who, -lest the subtlety of their wit be lost, were talking at the top of -their lung-power, pulling chairs from underneath one another, colliding -frequently, and every now and then, to emphasize some point, kicking -each other. - -Several minutes passed, and wonderingly the French girl gazed at the -pair, while the melancholy of her escort's face reached an intensity -that threatened tears. - -"Monsieur." - -He inclined his face towards hers. - -"Monsieur--they are----?" She did not complete the sentence, but her -shoulders conveyed her meaning. - -He smiled sadly. "They are," he said. - -She sighed sympathetically. "Poor gentlemen!" she murmured. - -After that the comedians sang a duet, the words of which dealt with -marital infidelity, that screamingly funny subject on which the stage -of to-day builds its humorous efforts. Once the verse ended with an -innuendo so crude that a gathering of navvies might have resented it. - -There was a laugh and a gasp from the audience--then wild applause; the -song could not go on for the riot of appreciation. One of the comedians -(who had sung it only three hundred and fifteen times) tried to -commence the next verse, but was suddenly overcome with laughter -himself. The guffaws became a barrage; then, as the other singer turned -abruptly about, his shoulders heaving convulsively, the din grew to -drum-fire and was deafening. How richly humorous! It was really too -much! People held their sides and gasped for breath.--"Have you seen -_Oh Aunt_? My dear, it is _too_ killing for words." - -Up in the gallery one man sat with an unsmiling face. He was a wounded -Tommy who had been blown from a ditch to the top of a barn, and from -the barn to another ditch. He had had his fill of slapstick comedy. - -When the song was over there were shrieks of forced, girlish laughter, -and nearly forty young women in various stages of dishabille rushed on -the stage, exhibiting to a critical audience the charms and the defects -of their forty individual forms. The producer had been both daring and -sparing. He was a second-rate burlesque manager in New York, but -London, that great haven for American mediocrity, recognized his -genius, and gave him a chance. He knew the value of a chorus, and how -to get the best out of them--oh, he knew! - -"Monsieur." - -The officer turned slowly and looked at the girl beside him. Her face -was flushed and her eyes stared at the ground. - -"Yes, little one?" - -"Please--take me away." - -Without questioning her further, he reached for his cap, and amid the -wondering glances of the people around, they left the theater. He -paused in the foyer and put on his gloves. - -"I am sorry, Pippa," he said gravely. - -Her hand stole soothingly into his arm, and both of them, unknown to -each other, experienced a feeling that he was the younger of the two. -After all, every woman is a potential mother, and men are only boys -grown serious; so she comforted him with the touch of her hand, -and--perhaps it was the natural contraction in putting on the -glove--his arm pressed hers tight to his side. - -And though he was a man, he understood. It is not precept or preaching -that teaches it. Modesty in a girl is instinctive; and the little lady -from the mill-house had known no other teacher than instinct. - -Outside the theater an attendant was changing the performance number of -_Oh Aunt!_ from 316 to 317. - - -X - -Twenty minutes later, in the large tea-rooms of a fashionable hotel -just off the Strand, there was a murmur of interest as a -flying-officer, quizzically dejected of countenance, entered with a -young lady, who glanced shyly about, and whose fingers held his, -timidly but confidingly. - -He secured a table, and ordered tea from a pleasant waitress. This -accomplished, he said something to his companion, who was sitting -bolt-upright, keeping a steady gaze on her hands crossed on her lap. -Smiling a little, she slowly raised her face and looked into his. A -young Canadian subaltern, seated at a table with a woman whose -overpowdered, meaningless beauty was only too eloquent, stopped in some -remark he was making. Something in the French girl's face had sent his -mind, smitten with loneliness, speeding across the Atlantic to a home -whence a mother and a sister had sent the finest thing they had across -the seas. - -Near them, two girls, fresh of face, tittered and posed, challenging -the eyes of every man who entered, with a brazen immodesty strangely at -variance with their appearance of decent breeding. At a farther table a -young woman, with a beauty that was marred by too hard a mouth, sat -with her mother and listened to that woman's urging that she should -marry a wealthy Jew who had asked for her hand. Was it not her duty to -herself and to her mother? Besides, even if that young fellow did come -back uncrippled from the trenches--which was unlikely--he would have to -begin all over again. Alone, a good-looking artist, discharged from the -army with wounds, sat with an insouciant, mocking eye, searching for -types and adventure. Around him women of all ages, some of them with -men, smoked, while their chatter mixed discordantly with the orchestra -playing some negroid ragtime piece, and with the sound of rattling -tea-cups. - -"Your Majesty," said the miller's niece, relapsing into her former -style of address, "there is so much I cannot understand." - -"Such as what, youngster?" - -"These ladies here. Some are so pretty and so nice. Others are pretty -and----" Again she shrugged her shoulders as only a French woman can. -"I am so young, it is true--but see that lady there." - -"With the young Canadian--yes?" - -"Somehow, monsieur, she frightens me. I did not know that women ever -looked that way--like Louis when he catches a mouse." - -"The simile is very apt, Pippa." - -"But then"--her brows puckered with a first endeavor to harness -language to her psychology--"you can see that nice girl there, so fair -and pink." - -"I prefer them dark," said he seriously; "but what of her?" - -The expounder of philosophy breathed deeply, but stuck to her task. - -"I think," she said, "that the fair girl is nice, but this one is ..." -(shrug) ... "Then why, monsieur, does the nice one try to look just -like the other?--_Regardez-moi ça_--see her now." - -He poured out the tea, which had just arrived. - -"Shall I tell you a story?" he asked. - -She sighed happily. "Tell me a true story," she said with that -insistence of the young on making all things believable. - -He sipped his tea and frowned meditatively. - -"Not long ago, my dear, there lived a stupid king." - -"Your father?" - -"In any one but you, Pippa, that would be pert. No, he was not my -father." - -"I wonder if Louis----" she began, but he checked her with a portentous -frown. - -"Once," he began again, "there lived a stupid king named Convention." - -"What a silly name!" - -"Pippa!" he admonished her with a warning finger. - -She tried to look serious, but ended by laughing mischievously. - -"There was a stupid king with a silly name?" she said encouragingly. - -"This king," he said, "was very wise in some things, and often kind, -but his courtiers were a poor lot--Hypocrisy, Snobbery, Good and Bad -Form, and a lot of others. Now the king used to favor the men among his -subjects." - -"You mean, he liked men?" - -"Yes." - -"So do I," she said in an outburst of frankness. "They are so droll." - -He poured some fresh tea into the cups. - -"This King Convention," he said, after a thoughtful pause, "said that -men could do a lot of things that women could not, which made the women -very angry. Now the king had a jester named Shaw." - -"What is a jester?" - -"A man who makes jokes that people may laugh." - -"Why do they laugh at jokes?" - -"Well, in England--especially on the stage--it is from the pleasure of -meeting old friends. As a race, we are rather sentimental about our -jests, and don't take kindly to new ones." - -She sipped some tea, holding the cup in both hands, but with -considerable daintiness. - -"Tell me an English joke," she said. - -He stroked his faded little mustache. - -"The House of Lords," he ventured, after some thought. - -"_Hé!_ Is that funny?" - -"Very." - -"I do not laugh. Tell me another." - -He broke a corner off a piece of toast. - -"One of the richest bits of humor in England," he said, "is the idea -that children born into wealthy or titled families are superior clay to -their fellows." - -Pippa thought tremendously. - -"I think, monsieur, I know why you look so sad. It is because of what -you have to laugh at in your country.... But please go on and tell me -what happened to--how say you it?--the jester." - -"Ah yes. Well, G. B. Shaw----" - -"What is this--G. B.?" - -"Those are his names--Gor' Blime Shaw." - -Pippa sighed. It was very difficult to become interested in people of -such strange nomenclature. - -"What did he, then, this Gor Shaw?" she asked, feeling that the story -must end sometime. - -"Well, as a matter of fact, he was rather a poor jester, because his -only joke was to stand on his head. At first every one laughed; but -after a while they thought that it was his natural position, and paid -no attention to him. It was really pretty hard on the poor chap, -because he was too old to learn any new tricks, and he used to become -dizzy from being upside-down so much. Finally he grew furious at the -king for not laughing, and urged all the women who did not like -Convention to murder him. When the war came along they saw their -chance. The men went away, and the real women of England were too busy -helping them to bother about anything else. You see, Pippa, in our -country we have the noisy, chattering, selfish women who do good by -lime-light and find their reward in the illustrated journals. But there -are also those, the unrecognized and unthanked ones, who share others' -griefs, but suffer alone. It is the unseen, unheard women of Britain -who are really wonderful." - -The girl said nothing, but her face, so suggestive of color in its -elusive change of expression, softened to a tender mood that left her -eyes very dark and somber, and her lips curved slightly into a smile -that was full of sympathy. - -The young Canadian subaltern looked directly at her and compressed his -lower lip with his teeth. - -"What's the matter, dearie?" croaked the woman beside him; but he -returned no answer. - -The two tittering girls stopped their staccato giggling for a moment, -then resumed with a steadfastness of purpose that somehow robbed the -effect of spontaneity. The young woman with the over-firm mouth took in -the tableau of the airman and his little charge, and turned to her -mother with some sarcastic comment that was strangely belied by the -look of hunger in her eyes. The artist, still with his air of graceful -insouciance, sat with half-closed eyelids and visualized Pippa as a -subject for canvas. "What a Psyche she would make!" he muttered. The -orchestra was just going to play, when the leader, who had been idly -gazing at the throng of guests, made a gesture of dissent. - -"We shall not do 'Oh, that Opium Rag,'" he said. "You see that girl -there, with the dark curls and the sweet little face? For her let us -play Mendelssohn's 'Spring Song.'" - -Quite unaware of their interested audience, the flying-man and his -companion continued their excursion into the realm of fables, while -untouched toast and half-emptied cups stood by in neglected array. - -"That is practically all the story," he said. "When the war came on, -they murdered poor old Convention." - -"Oh!" - -"Slaughtered him," he said gloomily; "though all his bad courtiers -escaped. For a long time it was feared that the king's son, Courtesy, -and his niece, Charm (who were very much in love with each other), had -also been done to death, but there are rumors that they have been seen -in remote parts of England. So, Pippa, that is why these young women -look and act alike. They are the murderers of Convention." - -"Monsieur, I am frightened." - -He produced his pipe, received a horrified look from a gorgeous waiter, -and hurriedly replaced it in his pocket. "The first thing the women -did," he went on, "was to place Vulgarity and his Queen, Stupidity, on -the throne; but there are signs that their reign will be brief. When -the men come back and the quiet women speak, I think we shall see -another Revolution that will put Courtesy and Charm in the place of -Vulgarity and Stupidity. So, after all, my dear"--he grew quite -cheerful at the thought--"poor old Shaw may have done some good in -inciting the murder of Convention. Perhaps, though the thought would -annoy him frightfully, he may yet go down to history as a martyr--the -reformer who stood on his head!" - -But she was not listening to him. She was silently enjoying, for the -first time, the fragrance of Mendelssohn's Melody of Spring, which -found immediate response in her nature, so attuned to the delicate -things of life. It had a somewhat contrary effect on the others, whose -conversation, which had begun to lag, took on fresh impetus with the -sound of the orchestra. - -"Tell me," she whispered, vastly puzzled, "why do they talk so loud -when there is music?" - -He shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "It is said that music -soothes the savage breast--it certainly loosens the civilized tongue." - -The charming setting to the happiness of Spring-time, written by a -composer who really never grew up, came to an end, and in sheer delight -the French girl clapped her hands twice. The leader acknowledged the -compliment by bowing. She did not know that it was for her alone he had -chosen it. - -The airman examined his watch. "Little one," he said, "I am afraid our -day is nearly over. In half-an-hour we must catch a train back to 'The -Plough and Crown,' where we shall have dinner and a little rest. At -eight o'clock two friends of mine from the aerodrome here will bring -the machine--you understand that taking young ladies from France to -England has not been officially authorized by the Air Ministry. As soon -as the stars are out we shall start for home." - -They rose to go. - -She smiled shyly at the orchestra, and once more the leader bowed. With -the daintiest of gestures she raised her hand and waved to him; then, -feeling for her protector's arm, she started for the door, her eyes -timidly glancing about her from beneath sheltering, downcast eyelashes. -Without the least embarrassment, the tanned airman with the strangely -light moustache and eyebrows walked beside her, experiencing an -indefinable sense of possession that proved most agreeable. - -The artist toyed with an unlit cigarette. "With such a model," he -muttered, "if I could only indicate that swift rhythm of expression, I -should be great." - -The tittering girls kept up their chatter. They had long since learned -that nothing stifles thought like meaningless conversation--and they -were afraid their thoughts might be unpleasant. - -The young woman with the over-firm mouth drew back as the airman and -his companion passed her table, but her eyes clung to the French girl's -face as though its winsomeness and purity held the answer to her -troubles. Swift as imagination itself, her mind leaped to France, -picturing a young fellow who, if he did come back unmaimed, would have -to begin all over again. - -"Mother," she said, with hot resentment in her voice, "I am entitled to -my own life. I have seen too many tragedies in material marriages to -dread one of love." - -"You are a fool," said the other; and because she was the stronger of -the two, she prevailed. - -The woman who looked as Louis did when he caught a mouse turned on the -Canadian boy, who had followed Pippa with a far-away, dreamy stare. - -"What's the matter, dearie?" she queried, with the tedious endearment -of her class. - -He brought himself from the reveries that had strangely blended the -French girl's face with the faces of two other women across the sea; -then he looked into his companion's with its leering comeliness. With a -quick, decisive movement he rose to his feet, and, feeling for his -pocket-book, placed a pound-note on the table. - -"Pay for what we've had," he said, his jaw stiffening, but his voice -shaking oddly. - -"What! aren't I going to see you again?" - -He was going to speak, but changed his mind, and, turning on his heel, -strode from the place, his spurs jingling with each step ... and there -was something in his face that made people keep silent as he passed. - - -XI - -It lacked two hours of midnight when an aeroplane crossed the Channel. - -With his feet automatically guiding the rudder and his eyes keeping -incessant watch on his compass and the pulsating lights of landing -points showing like lighthouses at sea, the Black Cat brought all his -conscious mind to bear on the events of the day. - -In the whim of the moment, when the rain was on the roof, he had -suggested this adventure to the little girl of the lonely mill-house; -and for one day London had been hers. He had carried out his plan. Her -countless comments, some childish, some strangely mature, were evidence -enough of her enjoyment. Then why, he questioned, was he experiencing a -dull feeling of depression, as the shadows beneath showed that once -more they were over France? To-morrow he would have the zest of battle; -again he would lead his squadron in the greatest sport of the ages.... -Then why this heaviness of spirit? - -His mind relapsed into a musing mood that got him no further in his -introspective analysis; and his eyes, which had always been a reliable -pair, commenced playing odd tricks with him. Though in the daytime he -was used to seeing the earth and the horizon, and thus establishing his -estimate of distance, he was relying that night almost entirely on his -sense of equilibrium, glancing only occasionally at the instruments -which would tell him if he were not flying level. - -It was the compass that first surprised him. - -He was studying its sensitive needle when he noted with some -astonishment that the dial had taken on the addition of two dark and -most expressive eyes, which proceeded to surround themselves with the -delicate features of a girl's face, possessed of a brow that was -spiritually white, and dark hair that melted into the blackness of the -night. - -He shook his head and sought a light on the ground, which, after the -manner of "Winking Willies," was showing long and short flashes like -Morse. To his amazement, the light became a smile, which gradually -developed into a most alluring female face. If he had been in -possession of his usual sense of the humorous, he would have recalled -that Lewis Carroll's cat appeared to Alice in much the same way; but -his mind and body were both in the clouds, a realm where cats and humor -are uninvited guests. - -He next tried a star, which underwent the same evolution. Even the moon -was not proof against the phenomenon. Once he half-closed his eyes, but -that was worse than ever. Everywhere he looked, there was the same -face--smiling, pouting, coquetting, sympathizing, commiserating. - -He tried whistling, but it offered no relief. - -Behind him, nearly asleep, Pippa sat with closed eyes. To her the -solution was much more simple. All day she had had her Prince by her -side, her arm in his, her fingers locked with his. Therefore she was -happy; also she was tired. - -Not having any tiresome masculine mental gyrations to perform in -discovering a truth that was so easily apparent, she accepted the -situation with sentimental nonchalance, and falling asleep, dreamed -that the statue of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens had changed to that -of the Airy Prince (who, she thought, was ever so much more handsome), -and that she was sitting on the grass admiring him, while rabbits -played about his feet. She was awakened from this delightful dream by a -sensation similar to that of falling off a ladder in one's sleep; but -such is the penalty of those who travel at night by air. - -And, applying the laws of logic to the case, when a young gentleman -sees dark eyes and curved lips in a compass, and a young woman dreams -that the citizens of London have erected a monument to a young -gentleman with a long face and glow-worm eyebrows, it is reasonable to -suppose that they have fallen in love with each other. - -But strange things happen in the month of April. - - -XII - -She had just fallen asleep for the second time, when the cessation of -the engines woke her, and a few moments later they had descended in a -field adjoining his aerodrome. - -He jumped from the pilot's seat and lifted her out. "Quick, Pippa," he -said. "They'll be here in a few minutes for the machine. I had to land -here because that light was my only guide. Do you see that heavy tree -over there by the road? Wait by it until I return with a motor-cycle. -Hurry, youngster; they're coming." - -She did as he bade her, and took refuge in the shadow of a huge tree, -just as men's voices told her the mechanics had come. The rolling of -distant guns, like thunder echoing through cavernous depths, traveled -on the wings of the wind and left her heart fluttering from a sudden -contraction of pain. For one day, in the restful meadows of England and -in the fascination of the unmarred City of Adventure, she had forgotten -France's agony. With the thought came a sudden bitterness. - -Ten minutes later she heard him coming with a motor-cycle, to which a -side-car was attached. She took her seat in the car, and he fastened -the rubber cover over her knees. Then, opening the throttle, they sped -through the night towards her home. - -It was just twenty minutes to twelve when they reached the mill. -Hurrying across the foot-bridge which spanned the chute, she entered -the cottage and lit the lamp. - -"Louis!" she cried. "Louis!" - -That patient feline awoke from slumber and stretched in the most blasé -manner; but his little mistress, gathering him in her arms, pressed her -cheek against his head, asking a dozen questions at once, to which he -deigned no reply other than blinking into space and licking his chops, -as though the ways of women were beyond him, but 'twere best to let -them have their own way. - -The airman followed her in.... The prevaricating clock continued its -dilatory march of time. Marshal Joffre was, if anything, more paternal -than before, and the geranium-colored table cover lent its unsubtle -glow to the scene. - -"Good-by, Pippa," he said. - -The girl stood motionless, and there was a quick stab in her heart. She -had known that this moment would come, but had kept her thoughts from -it ... and now ... he was going.... - -Once more she would have only her little world of make-believe. She -released the cat from her arms and turned her eyes away. - -"You have been very kind, monsieur," she said. - -He fingered his helmet absent-mindedly. "Did you enjoy it?" he asked -aimlessly. - -"It was wonderful," she said quietly, still looking into distance; "I -have seen so much. This morning I was just a little girl, but now----" - -His fingers ceased turning the helmet, and he frowned at it intently. -"We do not grow old with years but by moments," he said. "For a long -time one is a child; then there comes an instant of suffering, or of -love ... and one is no longer a child. That is all." - -She slowly sank into a chair by the table, and, folding her hands, -appeared engrossed in the table cover. "Your Majesty," she said, "do -you remember the poor lady with the violets?" - -"Yes, Pippa." - -"What did she say to you?" - -He smiled awkwardly. "It--it is rather hard to explain, little one. She -told me to--to take care of you." - -"Why did she say that?" she asked without removing her eyes for a -moment from the table. - -"Well--perhaps you do not know this--but men are sometimes very unkind -to women." - -"I know, monsieur. Simon Barit, he often beats his wife." - -He sat down on a chair opposite her. "There are many more ways of being -cruel than that," he said. "Sometimes a kiss, or the gift of a flower, -is worse than a blow. Often, Pippa, men play with women's hearts -as--well, as Louis does with a spool." - -A shadow fell on her face. "I think I understand, monsieur. That poor -lady was afraid I should fall in love with you, but that you would not -love me." - -"That is partly what she meant." - -Pippa rose and walked to the window. "To-night I think," she said, -after a minute's silence, "that women have the most sorrow in life." - -"They do, little one." - -"But also the most joy, monsieur." - -He rested his chin on his hand, but said nothing. - -"All to-day," resumed the girl, "when men seemed happiest it was -because they were with women. Also when they looked most cruel--you -perhaps know what I mean--there were women there too with the faces -that frightened me. And all those lovely children playing in the -park--always they seemed so merry because their mothers were near them. -But also, you remember the poor soldier in the chair?--no legs and but -one arm. His face was so sad until once the lady with him--a nurse, you -said--spoke to him and he looked at her and smiled. It was lovely, -monsieur. I think I wept a little." - -He made no comment, but his left hand ran slow arpeggios on the table. -From the window she could see the water of the chute, all silvery in -the moonlight. - -"So to-night, monsieur," she went on, "I am not the same as this -morning. Then I thought that we who are women are the happiest; but now -I think, in the real world, it is we who give pleasure or unhappiness. -Perhaps, monsieur"--she turned around and faced him--"perhaps a woman -finds joy only when she gives it to others." - -He looked at her, and his eyebrows were raised in wonder. When he had -said we grow old by moments, was it more than just a well-turned -phrase? - -She returned to her chair by the table. - -"When Louis and I are alone," she murmured, "I shall not dream the same -as before. Then we had only young people, brave and handsome, but now I -shall pretend that there are many old and sad ones, who perhaps will be -glad if I am with them. And----" - -"Pippa, my dear"--he looked into her eyes that met his without -timidity, and there was a pleading note in his voice--"you may be -lonely here, but you saw to-day how many discouraged, unhappy people -there are--how much sickness and unkindness there is. Keep to your -little world here with its Fairy Princes and the music of the wind. It -is better, Pippa.... Perhaps it is even more real than the other." - -She smiled, patiently, and, for the second time that day, felt a -motherly pity for his youthfulness. - -"Your Majesty," she said, "in my book, _The Fairy Prince_, the girl -sings a song about love, and she asks her mother, '_Est-ce plaisir, -est-ce tourment?_' I know now that it is both. Ah! I think it is too -wonderful to be a woman; for some day, perhaps yes, perhaps no, I shall -have my own children and a husband and friends. And sometimes, when my -husband, he is much discouraged if the mill makes no money, though he -works so hard, or if my children are perhaps sick and cry--then it is I -who smile and say: '_Mes enfants_'--for he, too, will be only a big -child--'_Mes enfants_, can you see the sunshine? Do you hear the birds? -Can you smell these flowers?--So!' _Et alors_--perhaps they smile too. -So I sing a pretty song and say to my husband '_Courage, mon ami!_ Have -you not your little wife?' And after that we are all happy.... And now, -that is why I think it is so wonderful to be a woman." - -The clock hiccoughed, and struck eight. - -The airman looked at his watch. "By Jove, it is midnight!" he said. -"Pippa, our day is over----" - -Tears sprang to her eyes, and her hands groped for his. "But no, -monsieur," she cried, "you must not go. It will be so lonely." - -He leaned over and covered her little hands with his large, tanned -ones. "It will be lonely for me as well," he said. - -"But you will come back, Your Majesty? Perhaps--next Easter?" - -He gently stroked her hand. "On my honor," he said, "I will come on the -Tuesday at dawn. You will be there?" - -He released her hands as she slowly rose and crossed once more to the -window. - -"At daybreak," she said very quietly, gazing at the steely brilliance -of the running water, "I will watch from the hill. And if you do not -come, though I shall weep a little, I shall say, 'He is fighting, and -could not leave for little Pippa. Next year he will come.'" - -"And supposing, little one, he does not come the next year either?" - -She leaned her arm against the window-pane and rested her cheek on it. -"I shall watch again at dawn, monsieur"--the words were spoken very -slowly--"and I shall say, 'He is not coming.... He has gone to be with -his brothers who went, out into the sunlight, smiling so bravely----'" - -Her words ended in a half-sob, and she pressed her face with both -hands. - -"But every Easter," she said, her voice very soft and trembling, "on -the Tuesday I will watch the dawn from the hill, and perhaps, monsieur, -you will see me." - -He stood motionless for a moment, slowly reached for her leather coat -and helmet, and placed them over his arm. "Good-by, Pippa," he said, -and he held out his hands. - -Timidly, and with cheeks that went all white, then crimson, she came -towards him and raised her face for him to kiss. For a moment he held -her in his arms, which quivered oddly.... Then, stooping, he gently -kissed her--not on the upturned, trembling lips, but on the cheek, just -beside her mouth. - -Without a word he gently released her from his arms, flung the door -open and went out into the night. - -Motionless, with the burning memory of his hot lips upon her cheek, she -stood until the sound of his footsteps was lost in the song of the -chute. Slowly her hands dropped to her side and she sank into the chair -by the table. The cat looked up from the task of licking his paws, and -sprang upon her lap. - -"Louis!" she cried, smothering him in an embrace that threatened to -snuff out his nine lives prematurely, while tears from her eyes fell -glistening on his fur. "Louis!" - - - - -MR. CRAIGHOUSE OF NEW YORK, SATIRIST - - -I - -A raw wind from the sea swept against the mammoth building of the -_New York Monthly Journal_. The editor of that classic publication -stretched his arms lazily, then crossed to the rattling window and -looked at Broadway, far beneath. A few belated flakes of snow mingled -with the dust that eddied about in little whirlpools of wind. Like -gnomes, the people hurried on in an endless diverging torrent of -humanity, slouch-hats of soldiers adding a strangely Western effect to -the usual bizarre scene. - -The telephone rang, and the editor, Mr. E. H. Townsend, left the window -to answer it. - -"Yes?" he said. "Mr. Craighouse? Send him right in." - -He took from a drawer a box of notoriously expensive cigars, and laid -it on his desk. The reasonings of Dr. Watson himself could hardly have -failed to deduce that the visitor was of some importance. - -A moment later a young man, in the uniform of a United States officer, -knocked, and, in response to the invitation, entered the inner temple. -Mr. Townsend offered him the arm-chair, and reached for the cigars. - -"You look well in uniform," he said, after appropriate comments on the -April weather had been made by both. - -"Thanks. I received your note this morning asking me to call." - -"Ah yes. By-the-by, you are sailing soon, I believe?" - -"Any time, now; naturally, we don't know to a day." - -"What branch of the Service are you with?" - -"The Engineers." - -The editor thrust his hands into his pockets. "That is odd," he said. -"Did you know anything about engineering?" - -"A little." The young man's voice was abrupt, but not unmusical. His -brain had always been alert, and army training was making his voice so. -"I was a science grad. at Harvard." - -The editor gazed out of the window again. "You are a remarkable -combination, Mr. Craighouse," he said. "There is nothing more stifling -to the artistic nature than a purely scientific training; in fact, the -influence of this journal has always been used against absolutely -technical schools. Almost the first requisite of any artist is a keen -appreciation of the intangible; science deals only with things that can -be proved. I often nurse along a young writer if he is incoherent -because, as frequently happens, his temperament is greater than his -technique. Scientists always marshal their facts well, but they never -soar to the heights." - -The editor tapped the window gently, the young officer gazing -quizzically at him the while. They were a strangely contrasted pair, -the editor in the autumn of life, with the calm voice and bearing of -one who has fastened routine to art, and become jaded in the process; -the young man keenly alert, with eyes that never lost their -restlessness, and thin, satirical lips that mocked the high forehead of -a philosopher. - -"I am greatly interested in your writing," said the editor, after -rather a lengthy pause. - -The officer smiled. "Is that why you rejected my last two manuscripts?" - -"Yes. Neither of them did you credit. Both of them betrayed rather a -nasty cynicism in your style." - -"I meant them for satire." - -"Ah! there is a great difference. Cynicism recoils on the cynic; satire -is always delightful, and is never offensive. However, I may say, in -spite of their faults, if you survive the war you should become one of -America's finest writers." - -The young man flushed with pleasure. "Thanks very much, Mr. Townsend." - -"You have temperament and you have language," went on the editor, "and, -though your emotions are artificial and your judgments too impetuous, -that is a natural condition of youth--nature has to keep something to -recompense us for growing old. But you have big moments, plus some most -promising incoherency, as I said before, and when that chaos becomes -cosmos, the world will acknowledge you. You have never been to England -before, have you?" - -The officer shook his head, a little puzzled at the abrupt descent from -the abstract. - -Mr. Townsend smoked reflectively for a full minute. "England," he said -slowly, "is the paradox of the ages. In America we have the present and -the future; England has the present and the past--principally the past. -Inefficiency is often no bar to success there--as a matter of fact, an -Englishman dislikes appearing efficient--but remember that the British -Navy is the most thorough organization in the world. I have often -thought that England's success in colonization was largely due to her -utter inability to understand the temperament of the people she -governed. Look at Canada. There was never an Englishman who really -appreciated the restless independence of the Canadian; yet, when the -Old Land goes to war, Canada sends and maintains a mighty fine army -corps to help her. Listen, my boy. I want you to go to England with -your pores open; receive impressions and make a note of them. I want a -series of articles explaining England to America--not as it is being -done by those polished gentlemen who visit us from London, but by an -American for Americans. Don't send me a description of the Strand, or -Westminster Abbey, or your thoughts on first seeing the Thames. Go -deep. I want a series of articles that rise above journalism. I want -the psychology of England written up in a light satirical vein by a -clever man with red blood in his veins. You will be there for some -time, I suppose?" - -"Very likely, as we are the first of the vanguard." - -A half-hour later the young officer rose to go, with a contract that -promised him generous remuneration, in return for which he had agreed -to write ten articles on England. He stood, facing the older man, and -smiled slightly. He had removed his cap, and his black hair, struggling -into an unruly curl, combined with his dark, brilliant eyes in an -appearance of arresting virility. - -"You are very encouraging, Mr. Townsend," he said. "I had no idea that -an editor could be so--so nearly human." - -"My son," said the older man, "we are literature's midwives, toiling -year in and year out in the hope that some day we shall assist at the -birth of a masterpiece." - -"But how is it that you don't write yourself?" - -The editor shrugged his shoulders. "Why does a hangman never commit a -murder?" he said. - - -II - -Three weeks later a great ocean liner, known since the war as H.M. -Transport, No. --, dropped gracefully down the river towards the open -sea. Craighouse, from the hurricane-deck, watched the amazing -silhouette of New York, as her mighty buildings stood outlined against -the darkening skyline. From the wharf came the strains of "The -Star-Spangled Banner," and hundreds of handkerchiefs fluttered in -farewell. - -A British cruiser was lying at anchor, and a thousand bluejackets -roared three mighty British cheers for the new crusaders. A bedlam of -shouting from the transport acknowledged the compliment, and one -American soldier, whose constant attendance at baseball matches had -produced stentorian qualities within him, boomed out the words, "Good -old Roast Beef!" - -Every one laughed. Why not? Men always laugh readily when their -emotions are playing leapfrog with each other. - -The strains of "The Star-Spangled Banner" sounded fainter; the -handkerchiefs were blurred into a fluttering white cloud. A French -battleship lay a quarter of a mile from them. As they passed it a bugle -sounded on board, followed by a salvo of cheers from the crew. -Craighouse noticed that the French cheers were a full third higher in -pitch than the British. - -Another roar came from the transport, and all eyes were turned towards -the stentorian private. He took a deep breath. - -"Good old Froggy!" he bellowed, and two or three soldiers laughed. To -America, France is the martyr of the ages, and there is a strange sense -of the feminine in the affection which the Old World republic inspires -in the New. Truly, the ways of an extempore humorist are unhappy. - -They passed the Battery, and, nearing the open sea, received the -blessing of the Statue of Liberty extending her welcome to all that are -weary and discouraged. - -Craighouse experienced a thrill of patriotism, and, feeling that he -must express it in language, turned to his nearest neighbor, who -happened to be a British officer. "That's an inspiring sight," he said. - -"Which?" said the Englishman briefly. - -"The Statue of Liberty," answered Craighouse with the tone of a 4th of -July orator. "That is the spirit of America--equality for all, freedom -of thought and action, liberty for every one." - -"Oh yes--splendid," commented the Englishman politely. - -There was silence for a moment, and then, in a burst of inexcusable -chauvinism, Craighouse said, "You haven't anything like that in -England, have you?" - -"No," said the English officer casually; "but we had an army in France -two weeks after war was declared. I say, do come and have a drink." - - -III - -Three months later the editor of the _New York Monthly Journal_ -received a letter from Craighouse. Adjusting his glasses, he settled -comfortably into his chair and read it. - - "MY DEAR PATRON,--I hope you have not been disappointed at my lack - of articles, but, to be candid, I have not struck the proper mental - balance yet. - - "England is delightful; England is absurd. I was on a bus - yesterday, and the conductress gave the signal to go ahead by - hammering the side with the fare-box. It fascinated me. - Incidentally, the girls have wonderful complexions over here, but - they do not dress as cleverly as ours. I know you will say it is - war-time, but nothing is powerful enough to interfere with anything - so fundamental as a woman's clothes." ("A bit labored, but quite - good," muttered the editor.) - - "The country, as you know, is like a garden, with all a garden's - charm and limitations. I don't feel yet that I can take a deep - breath. There are woods; but the trees seem to huddle together for - want of space, and one always feels that just the other side of the - woods there is a town or a village. England is lovely, but I feel - the lack of immensity. To me, the whole effect is that the country - is complete; there is nothing more to do. Everything that can be - built has been built." ("And well built, too," muttered Mr. - Townsend.) "In fact, I don't see what there is over here to employ - to the full the brains, the nerves, and the imagination of a - full-blooded _homo_. Again I return to the garden simile. Is - the task of maintenance big enough for the splendid specimens of - manhood that England rears? - - "I feel that there is something wrong with the public-school - system. Not that it is inefficient, but rather that it is too - thorough in its results. Judging superficially, of course, it seems - that the public school ignores the fact that every one is born an - individual, and proceeds to produce a type. To use a vulgarism, it - is a high-class scholastic sausage-machine. It takes in variegated - ingredients, and turns out uniformity of product. It instructs the - youth of the land in the manly virtues of past ages, but appears to - ignore the creative instinct. Public-school men are the Greek - chorus of England's national drama; they seldom provide either the - dramatist or the principal actors. - - "My biggest disappointment has been the English stage. I know our - 'playsmiths' are futile enough, but we would never endure in New - York what is put on at many first-class London theaters. At a time - when her grandsons from the four corners of the world are paying, - in most cases, their first visit to the Old Country, England offers - them the spectacle of a once classic stage given over to inanity - and vulgarity. Of course, there are two or three producers who - still maintain a commendable standard of art, but in the majority - of first-class London theaters one finds a coarseness of innuendo, - an utter lack of refinement, and an almost total elimination of - humor. In their musical shows the producers still go in for the - type of comedian known on Broadway as 'hard-boiled'--the kind that - carries his own jests in a valise, and whose _pièce de résistance_ - is the word 'damn,' which seldom fails to convulse the audience. If - I may coin a phrase, I would say the aim of some London producers - is 'to be vulgar without being funny.'" ("I wonder if that is - original," observed the editor.) - - "I like the restraint of the better English newspapers, and there - are still five or six monthly journals that demand a high standard - of writing from their contributors. Some of the popular English - magazines, however, publish stories that would hardly pass muster - as a blushing schoolgirl's first attempt at authorship. I remember - my mother used to say to me, 'Out of nothing, nothing comes.' She - had obviously never seen one of these fiction magazines. - - "Judging by the advertisements in these publications and in the - society illustrated papers, I would say that manufacturing women's - underwear, or 'undies,' as they are coyly called, is the greatest - commercial industry here. The advertisements state that an officer - can send a lady a complete set of these garments with his - regimental crest on them. I am still trying to gauge the mental - attitude of an officer who would do so. - - "The political situation puzzles me. Lloyd George looks like a - mighty big man, but he has to spend most of his time dodging - snipers from behind. Nero fiddled while Rome was burning, but a - certain section of the House of Commons goes in for absolute - symphonies while Britain is locked in the death-grip with Germany. - But she's a dear old country, and her people are as brave and - cheery as in the days when she was Merrie England, and not England - of Many Sorrows. - - "To hear her people talk, you would think that the Canadians and - the Australians had done all the fighting, and that the United - States was the savior of the world; but I know there's hardly a - home in England or Scotland that hasn't lost a son--and often the - last son too. And when the old families send their boys, it's right - into the trenches, not back on the lines of communication. - - "There--you can see why I have not written before. Incoherency - alone is hardly sufficient. I haven't seriously sorted my - impressions as yet. As you would say, the chaos has not yet become - cosmos. - - "By-the-by, the British Navy mothered us from the coast of Ireland - like an eagle with her young. - - "Every one is most cordial, and invitations are showered on us from - every quarter. I'm going to-morrow to visit the Earl of - Lummersdale, who seems to want to entertain a real, live American. - As I have six days' leave, I'm going to let him. They tell me he - comes of a very old family, so look out for an article on the - aristocracy. - - "This letter is rambling most aimlessly. I suppose you are bored to - tears. Just a minute, till I read over what I have written.... - Yes--I might add in my comments on the English theater that a chap - named Beecham is doing opera in English, and it's pretty nearly the - finest opera I have ever heard. Then, of course, Barrie produces a - play every now and then, just to show that he hasn't lost his - genius of tenderness and whimsical charm. - - "Perhaps my visit to the Earl of Lummersdale will crystallize some - of my vagrant impressions. Good-by, dear patron.--Faithfully yours, - - "LAWRENCE CRAIGHOUSE (Lt.), - - "c/o American Officers' Club, London. - - "P.S.--We're working like beavers getting things ready for the - American Army which is coming. It looks slow, but when Uncle Sam's - men are ready, Fritz is going to enjoy a real avalanche. This, I - promise you. - - "L. C." - - -IV - -One morning a south coast train contained a first-class compartment -which was shared by Lieutenant Craighouse, U.S.A., and a timorously -proper gentleman who read the _Times_ for twenty minutes, and then -stared at nothing very intently--an art highly developed amongst those -who worship at the shrine of good form. - -Craighouse was silent also for over an hour, which was a feat of the -first magnitude for him. He was thinking of some official figures shown -to him, in confidence, a week past--figures which gave the totals of -England's manufacture of munitions and guns, her construction of -aeroplanes and tanks, her production of all the minutiæ of war -essentials, in quantities which his brain could hardly grasp. - -Judged by any standard, the achievement was amazing. For a nation at -peace it would have been stupendous; but, in addition, this country -that amused Americans, this nation of obsolete methods and lack of -organization, had held the seas open and frustrated Germany's plans on -land. He wondered if he had been a fool--if, after all, the English -were not the most efficient race on earth. Just then an advertisement, -conspicuously placed beside the mirror in the compartment, smote his -eye, and he gasped. - -"How many people ride in a carriage like this in one day?" he asked -abruptly. - -The well-bred one cleared his throat and shook his head. They had not -been introduced; and, besides, he didn't know. - -"Ten, twenty, forty--say thirty?" said Craighouse. - -"Very probably--oh, yes--rather--quite." The words were decorously -languid. - -"Thirty people a day," went on Craighouse rapidly; "say a thousand a -month. In a year that would mean, roughly--oh, put it at ten thousand. -Am I right?" - -The Englishman shifted uneasily. "Very probably--oh -yes--rather--quite." - -"The war has been going on for three years." The American was warming -to his subject. "Three years mean that approximately thirty thousand -passengers have traveled in this compartment since the beginning of the -war, eh?" - -His companion reached for his cigarettes. "Very probably," he said. "Oh -yes--rath----" - -"How many of these carriages are in use?" interrupted Craighouse. "Two -hundred, four hundred--say three hundred?" - -"Very probably--oh yes----" - -"I may be short or long on that estimate, but putting it at three -hundred, this line has had about--well, roughly, nine million -first-class passengers. Is that correct?" - -"Very pro----" - -"Then, great Scott! look at the advertisement behind you, the most -prominent one in the compartment. This line has had a chance to have a -heart-to-heart talk with nine million average, well-to-do passengers. -From the standpoint of propaganda, figure out the national importance -of that. From the commercial point of view, estimate the value of that -space. And yet, after three years of war, it says that the steamship -line from Newhaven to Dieppe is the shortest route to Austria, south -Germany, and Spain! And it gives a map! Austria, south Germany, and -Spain!----" The American's tirade ended in a splutter of indignation. - -The train stopped at a junction station, and both men emerged, the -Englishman proffering his cigarettes. - -"Thanks very much," said Craighouse, taking one. "Good-morning." And he -disappeared into the crowd. - -The Englishman paused to light his cigarette. - -"What extraordinary people these Americans are!" he said to -himself--which recalls the well-known saying of a Quaker to his wife, -"Every one is queer but thee and me; and thou beest a little queer." - - -V - -When one passed the lodge which guarded the entrance to the Lummersdale -estate, all sense of present-day responsibilities fell away like a -cloak. Decades made no impression upon Oaklands; centuries very little. -The family was surrounded by traditions; the past pointed the way to -each succeeding generation, as sign-posts direct itinerant motor-cars -upon their course. A Lummersdale never was forced to plan his own -future, and there is no record of one ever having done so. Whoever bore -the proud title felt that his children did not really belong to him; he -was but a pruner, and they were branches to be trimmed to an absolute -uniformity. A Lummersdale must resemble nothing so much as a -Lummersdale; the associations of Oaklands and a judicious period spent -at a public school succeeded admirably in effecting the required -standardization. - -To this home Lieutenant Craighouse, of the U.S.A. Engineers, brought -his ultra-modern and Western Hemispheric personality. Like all men born -in a republic, he had instinctive leanings towards Socialism; like most -men of artistic tastes, he was distinctly susceptible to luxury. He -snorted disapprovingly when the castle-like turrets of Oaklands -appeared, but he drank in the green of the lawns and the colors of the -flowers like a desert traveler who finds a pool in his path. - -The earl and his lady welcomed him with simple dignity, spoke of the -pleasure it afforded them to entertain an American officer; and the -butler then took charge of him. Craighouse made a facetious remark to -that gentleman as they went upstairs, but received no encouragement. -Within the precincts of his chamber he made another attempt with -creditable bonhomie, but Mr. Watkins's reply was not stimulating. - -"Your bath, sir, is next door, and will be ready for you immediately. -The family breakfasts at nine; lunch is at one-thirty, tea at five; and -dinner is served at eight-fifteen. The gong is sounded, and the family -assembles in the saloon." Whereupon, with an air of deferential -superiority, Mr. Watkins cruised from the room with no apparent -physical effort whatever. - -Luncheon produced Second Lieutenant Viscount Oaklands, the -twenty-year-old son and heir, who was leaving that afternoon to join -the --th Horse Guards in France. He was of good athletic physique, and -had a high, clear complexion which spoke not only of an out-of-door -life, but a clean one as well. He was rather languid, and, in an -amiable, impersonal way, appeared somewhat bored. The second son, on -three days' leave from Dartmouth, was two years younger, but differed -very little from the viscount in any other respect. - -There was also a daughter. (Craighouse knew instinctively that, if the -countess had been enumerating her family, she would have said, "I also -have a daughter.") She was apparently twenty-three or twenty-four years -of age, possessed of an exquisite skin, eyes which were both blue and -deep, and a golden luxury of hair. With all these fundamentals of -feminine beauty, her appearance was rather disappointing--a lack of -animation in the eyes, a stolidity about the mouth. Craighouse felt, -like Pygmalion, that if this statue could only come to life she would -be irresistible. - -The conversation at lunch consisted of flattering questions about -America's preparations--questions to which Craighouse, who was never an -economist in words, did full justice. They all said that it was -perfectly splendid of America to come into the war; in fact, they -didn't know what Britain would have done without her. - -"I know," blurted Craighouse. "She'd have gone on fighting until every -family was drained to the last man; and, by Jove! I believe the women -would have carried on then. America is going to make victory possible, -thank God! but England never would have been beaten." - -He stopped, surprised at his own vehemence. The Earl of Lummersdale -protested that he was too generous. The countess echoed her husband's -opinion. The sub and naval cadet sons supported their parents' protests -languidly. The daughter, in acknowledged order of precedence, ended the -chorus by the statement that it was ripping of him to say so. Had they -been discussing the commentaries of Cæsar they could not have shown -less enthusiasm. Craighouse pictured a similar situation at home if an -English officer had paid a corresponding compliment. He had not learned -as yet that carrying emotional moderation to excess is part of the -English paradox. - -At four that afternoon a trap drove up to the door, and the kit of -Viscount Oaklands appeared followed a moment later by that young -gentleman himself. He kissed his mother, and gave his sister a -half-embrace; then he shook hands with his paternal progenitor, and -nodded to his younger brother. - -"Good-by, old man," he said, shaking hands with Craighouse. "Look me up -if you ever get near the regiment, won't you?" - -For a few minutes every one spoke of the military situation, the -delightful fellow-officers he would have, and other things which -well-bred people talk of. Amidst all this the trap started, then -stopped at a sign from the viscount. - -"I say, dad." - -"Yes, Douglas?" - -"Do tell Edwards to see that the hounds get some exercise this -week.--Cheer-o, mater!" And thus the eldest son and heir to Oaklands, -which he was never to see again, went to the war. - - -VI - -Dazed at the bloodlessness of the scene, feeling his heart torn by the -apparent lack of depth in the most primeval of all emotions, the parent -love, Craighouse strolled away, to find that the daughter was by his -side. - -"You will miss your brother," he said. - -"We shall," she said; "though, as a matter of fact, I haven't seen much -of Douglas the last three or four years." - -"How is that?" - -"Oh, he was at Eton, and only home during the holidays. I was always -away at those times; and, of course, he's been training for the last -year." - -"He is joining the Horse Guards?" - -"Yes. The eldest son always goes into the army until he succeeds to the -title." - -"And the second son?" - -"The navy." - -A smile lurked in the corners of his mouth. "Supposing the second son -proved a bad sailor, what then?" - -She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose he would stay on shore, and -probably go to the devil." - -He stooped to pick a blade of grass, and munched it meditatively. "And -what happens to the girls?" he asked, after a pause. - -Her lips, which were like pomegranates, straightened into a line. "The -girls are not of great account," she said, a note of suppressed tension -in her voice, which he quite failed to note. "We are educated in a sort -of a way, introduced to the arts, but not allowed to pursue the -acquaintanceship; then we marry--if at all--some one of our set and -everybody says, 'Didn't she do well to get him?'" - -"And then?" - -Again she made a pretty shrug with her shoulders. "Then we move into -our new homes, which are much the same as the old ones, and we bring up -a family of descendants for our husbands. When the husband dies, the -eldest male child takes over the estate, and his wife rules in the -mother's place." - -"And she leaves, in her declining years, the home which, naturally, she -has grown to love?" - -"Yes. Why not?" - -For several moments neither spoke. Always hasty in its judgments, his -brain was fired with a rankling sense of injustice. He thought he saw -the explanation of the bloodless good-by to the viscount. The mental -inertia of the sons and the emotional placidity of the girl were -natural consequences of a hereditary system which dulled personalities -and drove initiative into the scrap-heap of tradition. It was monstrous -that one's future and entity should be planned like the life of a -hot-house plant; it was no longer a puzzle to him that England's real -leaders and thinkers sprang from obscurity. He thanked "whatever gods -there be" that he was born in a country which had only one -tradition--that it once rebelled against the past. - -He turned towards the girl and gazed argumentatively into her very deep -and very blue eyes; then he gasped, and a far-away look crept into his -own dark, restless ones. - -"_Galatea_," he said, "_is coming to life_." - -Subconsciously she had caught his spirit of resentment, and, being a -woman, she thrilled to the sense of rebellion in his nature. With the -unlocking of her emotions had come the sparkle in the blue depths of -her eyes, and the animation which had lit at once the dormant radiancy -of her beauty--and his sudden admiration. In addition--though none was -needed--the mellowing sun lingered on her hair till it seemed like -strands of gold. - -"You look like a wild rose," he said irrelevantly, then dashed on into -a sea of words. "Are you content with this? Do you never feel a divine -restlessness in your nature, urging you to be the architect of your own -fate? Are you satisfied to be a mere link in the chain of generations? -Surely the individualistic instinct is not dead in this country?" - -He paused, rather astonished, but quite pleased with his burst of -oratory. - -"What would you have me do?" - -"Anything--everything that expresses your own personality. Be yourself, -and get away from type." - -"I have done a little." - -"What? Appeared in a few charity _tableaux vivants_? Posed for your -photo in the _Sketch_ as a woman interested in war work?" - -"I am sorry," she said demurely, "that you disapprove of me." - -"Great Scott!" he said, thrusting his hands into his pockets with an -air of defiance, "you are one of the most charming women I've ever -seen." He drew himself up to his full height. "But before I succumb to -the beauty of these surroundings and the--the--loveliest----" - -"Yes? Please don't hesitate." - -"You are mocking me." - -"Not at all, Don Quixote. Only why shy at the windmill?" - -He surveyed her carefully with his head cocked to one side. "I believe -you have a sense of humor," he said. - -"The daughter of an earl humorous?" She laughed gaily, and her beauty -was exceedingly good to look upon. - -An uncomfortable feeling crept into the mind of Lawrence Craighouse, -officer and satirist, that, though armed with the broadsword of -masculine self-assurance, he was being beaten by the stiletto of -feminism. His embarrassment, however, was broken by the approach of a -servant. - -"Pardon me," said Lady Dorothy. "It's the mail." - -She took from the salver a letter, which bore the stamp of the Red -Cross, and opened it. - -"I am so glad," she said, looking up at him; "I have been accepted for -France." - -"As what?" - -"As a V.A.D., my dear knight. I have been one for two years." - -He began to think that his broadsword was decidedly worsted, but he -made one final and thoroughly masculine attempt to retain the posture -of superiority. - -"I supposed you soothed a great many convalescent and gallant -lieutenants?" he said airily. It was a lamentable attempt, but he felt -a sudden jealously of all wounded subalterns. - -She pirouetted daintily. - -"I was in a Tommies' hospital," she said; "and when I wasn't scrubbing -floors I was waiting on the nurses at table--and you have no idea what -cats some of them were." - -Whereupon Lawrence Craighouse of New York handed over his sword and -surrendered unconditionally. - - -VII - -Three days later Craighouse wrote another letter to Mr. Townsend. That -gentleman read it with great interest, and noted particularly these -passages: "They have a library, but nearly every book I have opened has -uncut pages." "The daughter, Lady Dorothy Oaklands by name, is quite -good-looking, but mentally and emotionally she is asleep." "The old boy -showed me the portraits of his ancestors this morning. I made the -mistake of asking what each one _did_. It appears that they merely -_were_." "I am trying an experiment in feminine psychology--I am -acting Pygmalion to Lady Dorothy's Galatea." "The earl appears to be -very rich, but quite respectable." "We had some titled women to lunch -to-day. I have at last found out what countesses talk about--how to -secure exemption for their gardeners. It has quite done away with the -former vice of gossip." "Lady Dorothy plays the piano rather nicely, -but with no soul." "Have I mentioned the daughter, Lady Dorothy? She is -refreshingly beautiful at times." "I do like the speaking voices of -English women when they are not putting on side. Lady Dorothy has a -contralto lilt in her voice that is rather pleasing." "Dinner is a -tremendous affair. A prune may constitute a course, but nothing reduces -the ritual performed by the high priest and his assistant." - -That evening Mr. Townsend looked over the table at his wife. - -"My dear," he said, "what happens when an American young man falls in -love with the daughter of an English earl?" - -"Why, both families object, naturally," said the companion of his joys -and sorrows. - - -VIII - -It was the last evening before his departure, and Lady Dorothy had -played for him for an hour; played little melodies from _La Bohème_, -lesser gems from _Chu Chin Chow_, and twice had explored the delightful -memories of Gilbert and Sullivan. Once he sang very softly to her -accompaniment, and when they finished she turned abruptly to him. - -"You have a voice," she said. - -"You play beautifully," he answered. - -"It is easy to play when an artist is listening." - -"Have you found that, too?" - -She turned to the piano and softly fingered the opening strains of -Rudolpho's aria in the first act of _La Bohème_. - -"It is just a matter of personality," he said softly. "One woman chokes -a man's artistry; another reveals the heights which are in his soul. I -suppose it is the same with men?" - -She played on in silence for a few moments, then murmured, "What -happened to the statue when it came to life?" - -"You mean Galatea?" - -She nodded her head. - -"I don't know," he said pensively. "I have quite forgotten the ending." - -She went on playing, and in the soothing light of the music-room she -made a picture that lingered for months in his memory. - -"Some day I will tell you," she said suddenly. "Here are mother and -dad." - -That night, while in the act of disrobing, he heard the calm knock of -Mr. Watkins at his door. - -"Come in," he said. "I am going at seven to-morrow morning." - -"Very good, sir." - -Mr. Watkins carefully placed a pitcher of hot water on the stand. - -"Are you married, Watkins?" - -The butler considered deferentially. "No, sir," he said, after mature -reflection. - -"You ought to be," said the American. - -The butler carefully drew the window-curtains together. "Are you, sir?" - -"No," said Craighouse with great energy; "but when I do marry it will -be with some girl born in the United States of America." - -Mr. Watkins drifted towards the door. "Your bath will be ready at six, -and breakfast at six-thirty," he said. - -What Mr. Watkins had taken for persiflage was in reality another -American declaration of independence. - - -IX - -It was late in March, 1918, that two American officers sat by the side -of a road in France and watched a stream of refugees go by in an -endless pageant of misery. Old men crawled along on bleeding, ill-shod -feet; women were carrying grotesque bundles and leading absurd ponies -that drew household goods on rickety carts; and there were girls, -half-women, who bore infants in their arms, and who looked neither to -right nor left, but followed on in mute fatigue and tearless agony. - -Craighouse, who wore the badges of a captain, swore softly to himself. -His companion bit his lip. - -"I hear the Germans are smashing through everywhere," said the latter. - -"God! I wonder if we have been too late." - -Several ambulances passed in rapid succession, their bandaged and -bleeding occupants lying crowded together. - -A girl, less than eighteen years of age, dropped to the ground opposite -to them. In a bound Craighouse was by her side and had lifted her to -her feet. For a moment his strong hands gripped her arms tenaciously as -though he would transmit some of his strength to her. - -Without a word, without a look at him, she freed herself and staggered -on, her face livid except where a slight flush showed beneath the black -hollows of her eyes. - -Craighouse went back to the other officer, but his face was gray and -drawn, while his clenched fists drove the nails into his palms. His -companion cursed blasphemously. - -The roar of the guns grew louder, like a storm that is driven on the -wings of a hurricane. They heard the snorting of engines behind them, -and looking quickly, they saw a long line of London omnibuses crowded -with English soldiers. They were shouting encouragement to the -refugees, and waved gaily as they passed the Americans. - -"Those chaps will be in action in an hour," said Craighouse, and -swallowed noticeably. "Simpson," he went on, "do you realize that it's -little England who has kept this thing from us for three and a half -years? It's England who stood by her word; and now that she's drained -of her men and boys, she doesn't reproach Russia for letting her down; -she hasn't uttered a word of impatience for our slow arrival--asking -nothing for herself, blaming no one. It's little England who is -gathering the spear-points into her breast that your children and mine -may live like human beings!" - -His companion rose to his feet, and his jaw stiffened ominously. He -felt for his revolver-holster and adjusted his haversack. - -"Tell the O.C. I've deserted," he said grimly. "I'm going up the line -to join the first bunch that'll take me. There's some vermin up there -that I reckon need exterminating." - -Craighouse muttered something about discipline. - -"To hell with discipline!" said Lieutenant Simpson, ex-mining engineer -of Colorado. "I'm going----" - -A corporal had halted before them and saluted. "O.C.'s compliments," he -said tersely, "and the company is to go up the line as auxiliary -infantry. Parade falling in now, sir. We move off in an hour." - -When the officers reached their headquarters they found a scene of -bustling activity. Gas-masks were being inspected, ammunition supplied, -first-aid packages given out where they had been lost, rifles cleaned -and inspected, and all the accouterments of war checked and shortages -replaced. - -Craighouse strode up to his section, ignoring the sergeant's salute. -"We're going into this scrap," he said quietly, though his voice -vibrated oddly, "and I want every mother's son of you to see red. -There's a girl out on that road who is dying of fever, and its fear of -the Hun that is driving her on, and before night she'll be lying dead -by the side of the road. She's somebody's daughter--somebody's -sister--and, by Heaven, we'll make the Hun pay for it! What do you say, -you Yankee sons o' guns?" - -They cheered him to the echo, and some of them swore, and some of them -laughed (but the laugh had a cruel ring in it), and some of them felt -the salt tears stinging their eyes--but every one saw red. - -Craighouse slowly walked over to his hut to superintend the packing of -his own things. In his heart was a great exaltation and a mad love for -the men who looked to him for leadership. In the seclusion of his hut -he did what he had not done for years. He knelt for a moment by the -side of his kit and prayed that he might quit himself like a man. - -There are moments in war when men's very souls are touched by a -nobility, by a compassion, by a reverence that rises above all creeds. -Out of the depths they have risen to heights supernal. - - -X - -In a private ward at Abbeville an American officer lay in great pain, -and tossed restlessly in a delirium of fever. A young woman in the -uniform of a V.A.D. watched by his side, and, sponging his palms and -forehead, sought to soothe him with a gentleness and a tenderness that -a mother would show to her child. The man was badly wounded in chest -and leg, and exposure had brought a fever to torment his sufferings. -Once he sat up and glared wildly at her. - -"Did the guns get away?" he cried. "Did they get away?" - -"Hush!" she said softly. "You must not talk. You are very ill." - -He sank back on the pillows and laughed. "There's a girl lying dead on -the road," he said; "but there's a crowd of Huns this morning who are -answering the roll-call in hell." - -He was silent for several minutes, then frowned heavily. "Look here," -he said sternly, "I wish you would stop driving nails into my knee. Who -do you think I am--Hindenburg?" - -He laughed again, then groaned, and great drops of perspiration stood -out on his brow. The woman ministered to him with the gentle firmness -of her sex that rises to its best when face to face with suffering. She -smoothed his pillows and shifted his position so that he might not -irritate his wounds; and, as if soothed by her presence, he sighed -weakly and broke into a little negro melody: - - "All dat I got on de whole plantation, - All dat I got in de whole creation, - In de big roun' worl' or de deep-blue skies, - Is dat fat li'l feller wid his mammy's eyes, - Li'l feller wid his mammy's eyes." - -His voice was very low and soft. Then he suddenly sat up in bed and -pointed past her. "Look!" he cried. "The cavalry! The cavalry! By -Heaven, how they ride! Look at that officer! Great Scott! it's -Oaklands!--Good old Oaklands!--Come on, men--one last fight!--Get those -guns away--d' you hear? Get those guns away--_now_!" - -Weak from the effort he had made, he sank back with a moan; and the -woman stroked his brow, and kept back the tears which welled to her -eyes. For half-an-hour he did not speak; then he went through the -pantomime of lighting a cigarette. - -"The reason I can't marry her," he said abruptly, "is the same reason -that East is East and West is West. What can I offer her? She can't -dress on two manuscripts a month; and, besides, she knows nothing of -building bridges. If I made a great success I might come to her, -but--as I am now--no--no." He solemnly shook his head and flicked the -ash from the imaginary cigarette. "Can you picture Lady Dorothy in a -pretty little cottage outside New York, helping me to write--my -constant inspiration--the mother of my children? Can you picture her -sharing my discouragements; telling me I can write if the whole world -says I cannot; believing in me when I've lost belief in myself? Can you -see her motoring into New York with me, and the two of us dining at -Rector's to celebrate the acceptance of a play? Would she be happy in -such a life? No--no--no; as Euclid says, it 'is absurd.' By the way, my -dear fellow, you might shift the grand piano, will you? It is resting -on my knee." - -His voice trailed into silence, and he sank into a slumber. Twilight -was throwing its cloak over the earth when he spoke again. His hand -reached out, and she took it in both of hers. - -"I thought I was dying," he murmured. "I think I should have died -there--in that ditch--but Dorothy--Dorothy--was beside me.... She held -my hand when everything went dark--she wept a little.... It was only a -dream, I know; but I lived. She must never know I loved -her--because----" - -"Lawrence!" The word was low and stifled. "Lawrence"--that was all. -Then she leaned over and kissed his lips. - -_Galatea had come to life._ - - -XI - -The first darkening shadows of an August night crept over the lawns of -Oaklands, and settled about the turrets of the house like a mist. -Inside, in the music-room, a pale American officer was telling some -story--a story that kept his listeners silent and made the distant cry -of a hawk sound strangely eerie and loud. He had three auditors--an -elderly man, who had an unlit cigarette in his fingers; a woman, with -gray locks, who sat, motionless, with folded hands; and a young woman, -whose brown hair was like gold, and in whose deep-blue eyes there was a -mingled look of pain and love. - -"We knew when dawn broke," went on the American, "that we were -outflanked, and we tried to get the guns away; but the Huns saw our -move, and came at us with bayonets. We formed a line in front of the -guns, Scots and Englishmen, and the few of our fellows who were left, -and we did our best to give the gunners a chance, but they were on us -too soon. Everything looked over, when we heard the cavalry coming. -God! how our men shouted as they saw the squadron--that is all there -were--bear down on the Germans! Their officer seemed to bear a charmed -life, for he thrust and cut like a demon, while his commands rang out -above the whole shock and crash of the fight. The Germans fell back, -and this officer wheeled about, shouting instructions for the guns and -rallying his men. For the first time I saw his face as he rode up to -me. It was your boy." - -There was a deathly silence for a moment, unbroken by a sound from his -hearers, though a solitary tear fell slowly on the older woman's cheek. - -"We contrived to get the guns started back, and we retreated to a -sunken road which gave us protection. It was on the way there that I -was shot in the knee, but managed to keep up, when a shell lit between -two guns and killed some of the horses. We had to leave them, and went -on; but a few minutes later we heard a shout. The Germans were surging -about the guns, and the little group of cavalry had turned and charged -right into the center of them. I was hit again, and dropped; but -Simpson, one of our officers from Colorado, led our men back to their -assistance, and they fought till only Simpson and eight others were -left. Then he fell dead beside the body of your lad who had led the -cavalry." - -There was a long silence, broken finally by the voice of the older -woman. "I am glad that Douglas died bravely," she said, and her voice -was low and calm, "and I am proud that he lies in France beside a very -gallant American gentleman." - -As if by mutual consent, every one rose, and the two women left the -room together. - -The old nobleman stood by the fireplace and gazed at the undulating -lawns that showed from the windows in the deepening shroud of night. -"It was good of you to tell us that," he said; "it will make my wife's -sorrow more easy to bear." He walked slowly to a window and passed his -hand wearily over his brow. "Sometime," he went on gently, "I must show -you his room. We are keeping it just as it was." - -Craighouse said nothing, but in his heart was a great understanding. - -The first silver rays of the moon were dancing on the grass, when the -earl spoke again. "It is hard for my wife," he said; "but she will be -proud to know that she gave everything she had for--for England." - -The American's heart sank. "Everything?" he stammered. "You mean----" - -The older man's head was bowed with the simple dignity of his grief. "I -have not told her yet," he said, "but I received an Admiralty message -to-day that my second son's destroyer has gone down. He is reported -'missing.'" - - -XII - -It was nearly an hour later, when Craighouse was wandering about the -lawns in the glistening moonlight, that he heard the rustle of skirts -behind him. It was Lady Dorothy, and her eyes were shining like -twin-stars. - -"I thought you would be here," she said. "It is a night that draws one -to it." - -"It is a night for memories," he said quietly. "What bitter-sweet -things they have become since we had war!" - -"Yes;" and she sighed. - -For a little time they spoke of the sorrows and the tragedies of their -world; they talked of Oaklands, which would pass from her family -because there was no heir; they played on the minor chords of life, and -in their voices the melancholy elegy for beautiful things that had died -found expression in their hushed and murmuring tones. - -But they were young, and in the heart of youth there is always Spring; -and the witchery of a moonlight night was calling to it. The minor -strains trembled into silence, and the melody of hearts that are young -took its place. She had deep-blue eyes that were never meant for tears, -and he had a nature that responded to the beauty of life as an Æolian -harp to the moods of the wind. - -As men and maids have done for generations, they talked of themselves. -(A dangerous topic when the moon is making fairy-rings upon the grass.) -They traced their friendship from his first visit, and lightly touched -on the weary hours when she watched by his bedside in France. They -laughed, they sighed, and once their fingers touched by accident, and -he felt a thrill as the hot blood rushed to his cheeks. He experienced -a sudden resentment against her wild-rose coloring, the marble fullness -of her throat, and the luxury of silky, brown hair which held a vagrant -moonbeam in a lingering caress. It was a protest of the brain to the -senses against the allurement of beauty. - -"We must never meet again," he said severely. - -"You are right," she answered wistfully, and something like a smile -lurked mischievously in the corners of her mouth. The moon plays havoc -with men, but lends great discernment to the daughters of earth. - -Another half-hour passed, full of words that meant so little and -silences that meant so much. Then, with a quick contraction of his -shoulders and a deepening frown, he turned and faced her squarely. - -"I came to your home," he said, "to gather material for satire. I found -it in your parents--in your brothers--in you. In my room are ten -completed articles which I am going to send to New York. They are my -impressions of the English. They will be published as the psychology of -England studied under the microscope of a satirist." - -"And I form one of your satirical studies?" - -"Yes. I referred to you as Galatea, and to myself as Pygmalion. You -supply the feminine interest which is so necessary. I pictured you as a -statue amidst stifling conventionality, and I was the artist who tried -to bring you to life." - -"With what success?" - -He thrust his hands into his pockets, and his shoulders drooped -listlessly. "The artist," he said, "fell in love with her the moment -the marble became human. He was a fool." - -"I am so sorry," she said gently; and for a brief moment--a very brief -moment--her hand rested in his. Whereupon the moon was constrained to -disappear behind a cloud to hide her smile. "And what happened to her?" - -"Oh," he said, "being a woman, she decided to torture Pygmalion. She -came out on the lawn at night with him, and, by the music of her voice -and the charm of her beauty, inflicted an hour's exquisite pain. I am -like a man," he said, with an abrupt descent from the impersonal, "who -knows that on the morrow he will be stricken with blindness, and is -looking for the last time on a sunset." Whereupon Captain Craighouse -sighed like the classic furnace, and Lady Dorothy Oaklands smiled -again, though her eyes were glistening with a mysterious dew. -"To-morrow morning," he went on, "the sculptor, sometimes known as Don -Quixote, is going away to forget about the statue. It is the only thing -he can do." - -Her eyes were lowered to the ground. "The woman--Galatea," she -murmured--"she just forgets, I suppose?" - -"Women forget easily," he said, and thought he spoke the truth. - -"Listen," she said, and her voice was so soft that he could just make -out the half-whispered words; "let me tell you the real story of -Pygmalion and Galatea. When the marble became life, she loved the -artist who had created her soul. But he didn't return her love; it had -been an experiment with him. So the woman in her froze and died, and -Galatea became a statue again." - -He caught her hands in his, and his eyes flashed like brilliants. -"Dorothy!" he cried, "you are not jesting? You are not just--cruel?" - -She said nothing; but, oh, what eloquence sometimes lies in a woman's -silence! Then did Captain Craighouse of New York say many things which -would look absurd in the cold medium of print, but which sounded like -sweet music to his companion on that moonlight August night. He likened -her to a motif that remained in his life as a melody that haunts the -memory. He told her he would scale the heights of fame to cast its -laurels at her feet. - -"You stupid boy," she laughed caressingly; "as if anything you could -ever do would be finer than just this--that you are fighting for your -country!" - -In some mysterious way his hands reached her shoulders; and in an -equally inexplicable manner she was suddenly in his arms, and her hot -cheek was against his. - -"Lawrence dear," she murmured, "Galatea only knew one thing about -Pygmalion--that he had brought her into being, and so she loved him. -That was all." - -And the moon, feeling that her evening had been a complete success, -disappeared behind a cloud, and stayed there. - - -XIII - -A raw wind from the sea swept against the mammoth building of the -_New York Monthly Journal_. The editor of that famous publication -crossed to the rattling window and looked at Broadway, far beneath. A -few drops of rain mingled with the dust that eddied about in little -whirlpools of wind. - -In his hand he held a long letter from Craighouse, and, after a pause, -he re-read the ending. - -... "And so I crept downstairs in the early morning and built a fire of -my articles, in a grate. I am sorry to have failed you; but, if one -would ridicule England, first let him go to the sea and watch the men -that go out in ships--and the men that never come back from the sea. If -he would scoff at the simple folk of England, first let him stop at a -farm I saw, where an old man of seventy is toiling in the fields, that -the King's horses and men may be fed; while his four sons sleep in -France. If he would laugh at the old families of England, let him come -to the old homes where every son went without a murmur, and where, too -often, the last one fell beside his brothers, because England had -called for men. - -"If he would make the mothers of England a study for satire, first he -should mock the woman at the foot of the Cross, for her love and their -love, her grief and their grief, are one." - -Like gnomes, the people on Broadway hurried on in an endless, diverging -torrent of humanity. - - -THE END - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Blower of Bubbles, by Arthur Beverley Baxter - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLOWER OF BUBBLES *** - -***** This file should be named 40501-8.txt or 40501-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/5/0/40501/ - -Produced by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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