"Perhaps hasty marriages are sometimes to blame."
"Ah!" releasing my arm. "Hadn't thought of that. I suppose it's pretty safe to assume that they are usually a mistake. Glad you reminded me."
I furnished other reasons, and spoke of the case of Miss Muriel, of my anxieties concerning the girl. It appeared to me that with her mercenary views there was, for her, but small prospect of happiness; the Quartermaster-Sergeant agreed, but pointed out that in this world, and especially in stirring times like the present, you could never say for certain what was going to happen. He urged that I should not worry myself, overmuch, concerning other people. He said that whilst it was undoubtedly a mistake to concentrate thoughts too much on Number One, it was certainly possible to err in the opposite direction.
"Oh, but I'm a manager," I remarked. "That's my job in life."
"Doesn't follow that there isn't some one who could manage you."
"Explain yourself."
An interesting conversation might have taken place, but that a heated lad came up at this moment, cricket bat in hand, and begging Cartwright, as a man of years, and moreover possessing military authority, to come across the heath, and arbitrate on a nice point that had arisen. The Quartermaster-Sergeant complied at once. It seemed that the youth, sneaking a run, as he described it, found himself some yards from the stumps, and the ball coming to the gloved hands of the wicket-keeper; he thereupon, with great presence of mind, flung his bat, and this, it was agreed, reached the inside of the crease ere the bails were knocked off. Cartwright's decision was that the action, though ingenious, was not sufficient. In his view, the batsman and the bat had to be reckoned as inseparable.
"I s'pose, sir," remarked one of the players, "you couldn't stay on and umpire, could you? It'd mean a great saving of time."
"If I stay on," said the Quartermaster-Sergeant, loosening belt, and taking off tunic, "I take a more prominent share in the game. What about me playing for both sides?"
"Good old sort!" declared the youngsters.
"Mary," he begged, "fairest of thy sex, and more intelligent than most, look after that military property I've thrown down on the grass."
I should have preferred that we had gone on with our talk, but I knew enough about men to be aware that, with many, cricket comes ahead of everything else. Cartwright enjoyed himself. The ground was not too good, but he bowled well, and took wickets, and made catches, and when the lads found that he did not propose to take his turn with the bat, their admiration for him became frank and genuine. And I felt interested for a time to watch the boyish side of his nature, but only for a time, and I was not sorry when one of the keepers came along, and pointed out the date was not sufficiently advanced to makethe playing of the game legal and permissible on open spaces. It looked as though our walk and our conversation could now be resumed, but the keeper had two sons out in Flanders and—well, people are very sarcastic at times about the way women-folk chatter, but when you get men discussing affairs, it is difficult to guess when they will stop, and not easy to find a method of arresting the debate. I strolled off, found the boys, and persuaded them to set up their wickets once more. Returning, I pointed out to the keeper that his authority was being derided. He hurried away.
"Thought you were never going to finish your cackle," I remarked to the Quartermaster-Sergeant. "What time do you want to be starting for home?"
"Tired of my company already?"
"Of course not. Only that there are your parents to be considered."
"For one day at least," he announced, "I'm going to consider myself. And you. We're going to a theatre together. A theatre up in town."
He went on first to choose a play, and arrange about seats; I called at London Street, where Millwood grumbled at my long absence, and mentioned that he had never before seen me with such a colour. "Makes you look like I don't know what!" he declared. "And mind you don't go getting yourself talked about, Mary Weston. Greenwich is a rare place for gossip."
As though I cared! As though any woman would have cared, with the prospect of going to a theatre, and sitting next to a soldier man, home on leave, after doing fine work for his country, and soon going out to do more!
I could tell you everything about the play, and could give you all the particulars of the dresses (I did furnish these details the next day, first to Peter at the shop, and afterwards to Miss Katherine at Gloucester Place). The incident worth recording here is that when my Quartermaster-SergeantCartwright saw me off at Charing Cross station that night by the eleven-thirty train, we shook hands through the open window of the railway carriage, and he promised to see me again before he went out. And, without saying "By your leave!" or "Hope you don't object!" or any remark of the kind, he, as the train moved out, kissed me.
CHAPTER IX
Millwoodfelt tremendously gratified because his example in regard to abstinence from alcohol was followed in high quarters, and he became from that moment, not only a supporter of royalty, but a man of ideas regarding the deportment of folk staying at home. He had a row one evening in a South-Eastern train with a stubborn passenger who argued that there was no sense in the order concerning the pulling down of blinds. He ordered a strict method of economy in London Street, and gave lectures on the subject to Peter who, endeavouring to pass them on to his own household at Deptford, found himself slapped by a mother who, a pronounced bungler and a most inefficient person, evidently considered she had nothing to learn in domestic management. I had to check Millwood when I found that to new customers he was in the habit of saying:
"Now, the question you've got to put yourself, is, not 'Can I afford to buy this?' but 'Can I manage to do without it?'"
He did work that met with greater approval from me, in addressing out-door meetings during the special fortnight of recruiting. I happened to hear him speak at one of them. A military gentleman of the Colonel Edgington school stood up, and fiercely denounced the young men present who had not enlisted; they accepted his thundering attack with calm. A soldier who had been through Neuve Chapelle offered a grisly, and, no doubt, exact description of the fight; the youths shook their heads knowingly as though to indicate that they were far too wise to run any such risks. Then my brother-in-law stepped up and told an anecdote inhis London accent: they began by laughing at him, and finished by laughing with him; he kept them amused—I had never before guessed that he had a sense of humour—for about eight minutes, and in the last two minutes of his speech, became forcible, strenuous, pathetic. He pointed to Greenwich Park—
"Where your mothers and fathers went sweet-hearting, my lads, years ago, and where you go sweet-hearting now, and I don't blame you!"
—And said we were at war that this might remain in our possession. He sent his arm out towards the river—
"Look at British commerce going up and down there, a-carrying food that keeps me and you from starving!"
He drew their attention to a double line of children going along under the control of an assistant mistress from one of the County Council schools—
"It's to protect dear little kiddies like them, my lads, that we ask you to become soldiers, and prevent the Germans from arriving here!"
Twenty young men walked up to the Recruiting Sergeant when Millwood ended his address: the band played "The Red, White and Blue," grown-up folk—and I was amongst them—gave signs of tears.
News of air raids did something to back up and support the arguments of my brother-in-law. The attacks came for the most part at night, and generally over the East coast, but an enemy's aeroplane appeared once, at mid-day, near Faversham in Kent. We were alarmed at Gloucester Place, because Miss Muriel—taking every advantage of any opportunity to get away from Greenwich, and from her people—had gone there to visit acquaintances and (as she told me frankly) in the hope of finding some eligible husband. A relative of the family, she added, a man who had gained a fortune in the United States, was shortly coming home for a holiday. Miss Muriel gave his name. I was curt with her, but when the news came about theattack over Faversham, I felt sorry I had been so outspoken. On discovering from the journals that no damage had been done, I wished I had been more candid and abrupt with her. But I sent her something for her birthday.
TheLusitaniawas sunk by an enemy's torpedo early in May, and it is referred to here because it had some effect upon a member of the Hillier family. In the absence of Miss Muriel, everything was going comfortably at Gloucester Place. It often happened that I was not called upon there to do any sort of work in the whole course of a day. Mrs. Hillier seemed to find a pleasure in carrying out the duties of the household during the week; on Sundays she and her husband took short trips together, either up the river, or out into the country, leaving me to look after Miss Katherine and Master Edward; an easy task.
Everybody can remember the afternoon that news of the sinking of the big liner arrived, and not many people will ever forget the manner in which the information reached them. I had been to a sale at Blackheath where the auctioneer's announcement suggested the possibility of finding bargains, and after giving a couple of hours to the big house, I found there was nothing that justified a nod of the head from me; the owner of the place had been taken in, right and left, and an agent of my acquaintance, in referring to him, and to their earlier dealings with each other, expressed regret that there were so few mugs of the kind left nowadays. I walked quickly across the heath to get rid of the annoyance created by the waste of time; the feeling had not disappeared as I went down the slope of Lewisham Hill. Outside the news-agent's shop at the foot was the staggering placard. Folk stood around gazing at it. One or two said hopefully that it was nothing but a catch-penny.
"Lot of use having a Press Bureau!" they remarked, with bitterness. "These papers are allout on the make, and, seemingly, it's no one's business to stop 'em."
The next morning, full confirmation arrived. The ship had been torpedoed off the western coast of Ireland. Many well known people were aboard, and as I glanced down the passenger list, one name struck me as being familiar, but, at the time I could not place it. Mrs. Hillier came, in great haste, to the shop, bringing a telegram from Faversham. "Is Muriel with you?" it said. I took charge of the task of sending the negative reply, and assured her there was no cause for anxiety; it probably meant some temporary confusion or misunderstanding that would be cleared up ere the day was out. But, being by no means so confident as my words, I rushed off directly that Mrs. Hillier had gone, taking my chance of trains, and finding myself lucky in this respect. I was at Faversham by two o'clock, and I caught the three-three back to Victoria. It was an express, and in view of the information I was taking home, I wished it had been a slow train.
"She left that house this morning," I informed Mrs. Hillier. "Here is the note she placed on the hall table. And you must try not to be upset about it, ma'am, because nearly everything comes right if you do but allow enough time."
"Read it, Weston," she begged, piteously. "Trouble seems to be all around us, and it has got into my bones, and into my eyes."
The slip of paper in Miss Muriel's handwriting had evidently been written in haste. It announced that she was tired of encountering disaster, and in no mood to receive condolences. "I am doing the vanishing trick. Explain to my people. Tell Weston not to make a fuss."
All the particulars gained from the girl's friends, I supplied to Mrs. Hillier. The nephew of the family, whose name and fortune had been mentioned by Miss Muriel, had taken a berth on theLusitaniaatNew York; he wrote beforehand to say that his aunt's allusion to Miss Hillier's impending visit induced him to accelerate his voyage home. American girls, he added, were too independent. Although he had become naturalised in the United States he was sufficiently English to recognise this. He held pleasant memories of Miss Hillier, and trusted she had not forgotten him. The lady at Faversham—she seemed to be one of the few remaining experts in match-making, and her disappointment at the upset of her plans was even keener than her sorrow at the loss of a nephew—assured me Miss Muriel had taken an enthusiastic share in the preparations for his arrival; had composed an affectionate and welcoming telegram to be sent by the family to Liverpool; had assured the aunt that a good marriage was the one piece of fortune she particularly desired. "A sweet, ingenuous, simple nature," the aunt remarked to me, with emotion. "The very child for a romantic episode. Really she might have stepped out of a novel." I could not help thinking that our Miss Muriel had surely worked hard and industriously in order to succeed in conveying this impression.
"Had the dear girl any money with her?" inquired Mrs. Hillier anxiously. "You didn't remember to find out."
"I found out everything there was to be discovered, ma'am. She had a postal order for ten shillings which her father had sent her for her birthday."
"And that was all?"
"And one for two pounds that I sent her on the same occasion. She changed them this morning at the local post office. At the station, they could give me no particulars; she was not known by sight to any of the officials there. The local police are going to make inquiries. On the way from Victoria just now, I put an advertisement into the newspaper she was most likely to see, asking her to communicate with me."
"I might have guessed," said Mrs. Hillier, gratefully, "that you would do all that was possible. But she is a queer child, and I wish I could tell what is likely to happen to her."
It was just because Miss Muriel had always behaved differently from anyone else that I felt anxious. All the same, I declared to Mrs. Hillier that it was impossible to share her fears; I spoke of Miss Muriel as a rather spoilt young lady who would very quickly resent the discomforts she encountered, and, the two pounds ten gone, we might expect her to ring the bell at Gloucester Place, and demand to be fussed over, and treated as though she had acted courageously and with shrewd common sense. There was no music from the pianoforte that evening. I went up to my rooms, at the top of the house, as early as convenient, leaving a thoughtful family group to discuss the matter. To detach myself from worry, I wrote a long letter to Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright. In his last pencilled note, he had explained that his father, taken ill on the second day of Cartwright's leave, required his attention during the rest of the time, and he seemed to hint that I might have some excuse for feeling annoyed at not seeing him again. My letter was calculated to re-assure him. I asked for the address of his people, and promised, when this came, to call and see them. It can be added that the part of Cartwright's note which gratified me the most came at the end where three crosses had been drawn, small enough to be over-looked unless one was searching for them.
My intention was to give my full time to the job of discovering Miss Muriel. The advertisement appeared, and in answer to it, I received a card from her, postmarked London, N.W., bearing nothing more than three words—
"Quite all right!"
—And I should have made an effort to search thepostal district indicated—although, as I knew, it included Kentish Town, and Hampstead, and Cricklewood, and all sorts of distant places—but for the fact that I was suddenly bound, hand and foot, to London Street. Millwood left, and in the circumstances one could not blame him for leaving. His effective talk at recruiting meetings had been noticed by the authorities, and he received an offer that excited him, and gave him enormous gratification; he bustled around before leaving for the tour in the manner of a junior clerk starting for his first holiday. One speech, they told him, would be all that was needed, and this speech was to be delivered in the Midlands, up in the North, and, in fact, wherever he was instructed to go. So Millwood—when I had chosen a new suit for him, and selected a new hat, and made him look fairly respectable, without suggesting prosperity—Millwood went off, and on the top of this, Peter's mother came from Deptford, and with a preliminary announcement that she intended to behave herself in a lady-like manner, asked what the blazes I meant by paying her boy twelve adjective shillings a week, when, at the Arsenal, he could be earning untold gold, and thus save his poor father from the necessity of going out to work. She described my origin as German, and warned me to look out for an attack on the shop; I stopped the shouted tirade by handing to Peter the wages due, and advising him to follow his extraordinary parent.
"I don't want to go with her, miss," he pleaded. "I'm very comfortable where I am."
"That," said Peter's mother, to her reflection in a mirror, "that is what your modern child has come to. That's one of the consequences of them 'aving a education. That's the result of waiting on 'em, hand and foot, and struggling for 'em, tooth and nail, and stinting yourselves so as they should live on the fat of the land. A nicely managed world," she added, bitterly, "that, I must say."
"It's bad enough," argued Peter, "to have to go home there at nights, and find the old man blind to the world, and called upon to make the beds myself, because she's too lazy to attend to them."
Peter's mother called Heaven as a witness on her behalf, declaring that Heaven knew, better than neighbours or relatives, or friends, how she had laboured morning, noon, and night, working her fingers to the bone, and becoming a mere slave in her desire to bring up her boy as a credit to herself, and a model for all other youngsters.
"I shall run off on my own, mind you," Peter warned her, "jest as soon as ever I can!"
I dismissed the incident from my thoughts, but one remark offered by the Deptford woman came back when mobs began to smash windows of shops owning names which gave a foreign hint of other nationalities. They were not too particular, and, starting with confectioners and bakers where the origin was possibly Teutonic, they extended the sphere of their operations. TheLusitaniaaffair had saddened some people, impressed many, and excited a few: it was the few who set out during the day, and occasionally of an evening, to enjoy revenge, and to give themselves the luxury of committing reckless damage. In High Street, Deptford, there were at least a dozen shops with not a sound piece of glass in anyone of them; from the upper floors, blinds and curtains bulged out of empty windows, and carpenters were engaged in nailing up a wooden protection. There followed stories of the rioters helping themselves to any article of domestic furniture which appealed to their fancy. There came rumours of the paying off of grievances against shopkeepers who had incurred unpopularity by requesting the settlement of accounts. The mob, it was stated, preferred to throw stones at establishments where no man was in charge.
"You can get on without me," I said to Mrs. Hillier. "For the time I must look after myself.I don't intend to leave London Street, for a moment, day or night."
"We must find some one to stay with you, Weston, and help to protect the shop."
"Mr. Hillier is too old, and Master Edward is too young. Besides, I know as well as you do that they are both scouring London, every spare minute they've got, trying to find Miss Muriel. If it wasn't for this bother I should be helping them."
"Wish one knew when the dear girl was likely to come back."
"She'll be running short of money pretty soon now," I mentioned, encouragingly.
"That is the time," said Mrs. Hillier, with a shiver, "I am fearing more than any other."
A cheery letter came in Master John's writing, dated from Darmstadt, and headed with a number and a company and a baraque, with the long German word, "Kriegsgefangenenlager," that went across the entire breadth of the sheet of note-paper. His leg was getting better, he wrote; he was receiving our parcels; he hoped we would write often; the German doctors had been good to him; he sent his love to all, and especially to Weston. "Ask Muriel to send me some books," he added, "and to write on each that it contains nothing concerning the war. 'Dieses Buch enthält nichts über den gegent wärtigen Krieg.' Muriel well knows the kind of volumes to select. And she might include a German grammar, and any of my old school books in the same language. Tell Muriel that I managed to bring her photograph through safely, although I lost many treasures, and it is now smiling at me as I write. I am glad to have her for company."
The news made us feel slightly more tolerant concerning our enemies, but the shadow remained at Gloucester Place. The earlier suspense concerning Master John had been sufficiently trying, but that was one of the events of war, and many families had been called upon to endure a like experience;the tension concerning Miss Muriel seemed an undeserved and an extravagant suffering. From Mrs. Hillier down to Master Edward, the entire group became older, graver, more subdued. Miss Katherine made an effort to brighten the atmosphere by giving an imitation of senior clerks at the bank.
"Regarded as an entertainment, Weston," she remarked, aside, "a pronounced and dismal failure."
"We're on the toughest job we've had, up to the present," I agreed. "A pity we can't all get away for a holiday."
A Continental Railway Guide had not been issued since August of '14, but a copy of this date had been brought on from Chislehurst, and I recall that one wet evening at Gloucester Place, when a desperate suggestion was made by Edward that we should all take the bull by the horns, and go to the Picture Palace (this was not seconded, and therefore fell to the ground), then Katherine recommended we might start on the trip which had been cancelled by events. It was decided, in order to avoid delay and trouble, to take the old services, and—the crossing satisfactorily accomplished on a smooth Channel, with everyone on deck, and protesting against the building of a Tunnel as unnecessary—at Calais, Mr. Hillier's counsel was adopted, and by the aid of the Guide we visited one or two places that had become conspicuous. We found that, according to the book (which we trusted) Ypres was "an interesting, clean old town," and that Zeebrugge was "a fashionable and secluded sea-side resort; restful and quiet." The Guide added to the list of attractions at Zeebrugge the word "shooting." Taking up the journey on the main line, we travelled to Paris, and stayed a night at the Continental in the rue de Rivoli, but dined out previously at a restaurant in the Avenue de l'Opera, where the meal was really admirable. Nothing could have been better.Unambitious perhaps, but adequate. The selection of dishes was left to me, and I ordered the following:
Tortue Claire au Marsala.Saumon bouilli.Cotelletes d'Agneau.Pointes d'Asperges.Jambon d'York.Caille rotie.Bombe glacée.
The train for Pontarlier left at rather an early hour, but with Continental travel, one has to be prepared for some inconvenience, and we were at the P.L.M. station in good time, and Mr. Hillier (at the hearthrug in Gloucester Place, and in charge of the Guide) had managed to reserve a compartment, and despite the crowded state of the train, our comfort suffered no interference. There were places of importance to be looked out for on the way, and the Guide was disinclined to allow us to miss any of them, but we did miss some because Mrs. Hillier (from her arm-chair near the window) said the great thing was to arrive at Lausanne, and get along to Territet. Territet, said Mrs. Hillier, was a good centre for the making of excursions. It was important, declared Mrs. Hillier, that being in Switzerland, one should see all there was to be seen. I took charge of the meal at Territet. A light repast made up of
Poulet roti.Langue de Boeuf.Pâte de Pigeon.Gelée a l'orange.Anchois en croute.
The first trip was to Champéry by steamer up the lake, passing by the Castle of Chillon, and at Bouveret, on the opposite side, we took the train for Monthey. From Monthey by electric railway through Trois-Torrents and Val d'Illiez. We liked Champéry. We thought highly of the rock galleries. We gave a word to the Cascade de Bonaveau. Returning to Territet, I was called upon to order dinner; pleading that invention demanded a rest, I advised that we should take the table d'hôte meal.
On the other days—each occupying not more than ten minutes—we went by the funicular up to Glion, and Caux, and the Rochers de Naye; by train to Bex and by the electric railway to Villars (4,250 feet up) and the lunch taken at the Hotel Muveran, by special and particular arrangement with the management, was as follows:
Tortue verte en tasse.Truite saumonée.Poussin de Hambourg.Biscuit glacé.Canapé Favorite.
My companions regarded this as one of my lesser triumphs, and were frank enough to say so. "You've left out the meat," complained Edward (from the music-stool). I declined, on artistic grounds, to make any alteration. There followed a move to Chamonix where we at first stayed, I think, at the Hotel de Paris, but found it over-run by visitors, and we transferred ourselves instantly—no harm in being snobs in theory—to another establishment. And we visited the Glacier des Bossons and showed a proper interest in the Glacier "where the remains of Captain Arkwright were found in 1897, after being entombed in the ice for thirty-one years," and we went up La Flégère, and to the Gorge de la Diosaz, and to the Montanvert Hotel where the meal was too good to be omitted here. (The considerable advantage of these travels of the imagination was that one could always order anything, in season or out.)
Hors d'Oeuvres variés.Langouste Parisienne.Coeur de filet de boeuf.Poulet en casserole.Asperges vertes en branche.Dessert.
We did Zermatt pretty thoroughly, and then Mrs. Hillier (glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece), pointed out that time was getting on. Edward and Katherine protested, Mr. Hillier offered no opinion, and I, answering a direct question, declared I was in no hurry to find myself home at Greenwich again. So we rested for a few days at Lausanne, and lunched once at a large hotel in considerable grounds at Ouchy, where we, most fortunately, met several English people whom we had always wished to encounter; Mr. Rudyard Kipling (chatty and communicative), Mr. Lloyd George (who promised to do something on Edward's behalf, later on), the editor of a London journal (knowing John Hillier well, and ready to give notices of his songs), Mr. J.R. Mason (who gave us several interesting and little known facts concerning first-class cricket). I fancy that these and others were our guests at the lunch; expense was naturally of no object. This was the meal I ordered, pleading now that on the return journey, one should be reckoned exempt from the task. Edward begged that, in these circumstances the details might be solid and satisfying, the repast one—in his phrase—that you could get your teeth into. I give a copy of the menu card:—
Petite Marmite.Suprême de Sole.Noisettes de pre-Salé.Pommes.Volaille en cocotte.Salade de Saison.Aubergines au gratin.Pêches Melba.
Mrs. Hillier was definite, after this, in ordering that the trip should be considered at an end, that the game of imaginary travel should finish, and I left the room to prepare the evening meal for the family. It consisted of cold ham, cheese and lettuce.
I had put up the shutters one evening, and I was in the room at the back of the shop, when the booming came of distant voices. I ran upstairs and, without turning on the light, gazed out, and caught sight of the Deptford crowd. There was a good deal of incoherent shouting, with bass notes from the men, shrill voices of the women; one carried a flag, and boys knocked at anything that could be reckoned as a substitute for a drum. A ring came from downstairs; I assumed it to be only the lad with the evening newspaper, and if it happened to be anybody else, I was certainly not going to open the door. As the crowd came nearer, I could see Peter's deplorable mother in the front ranks; she was gesticulating wildly and screaming an instruction. They made some effort to range up near to my shop. A few constables were about and one was sent off, at full speed, to the police station. As I watched, I saw young Peter dash up and catch hold of his mother; he pushed her along, and once he had got her on the run, it was not long before the two disappeared. More names were being shouted now, and some of the excited people, to my relief, began to move; at that moment I heard a cracking of wood downstairs, and it appeared certain to me that my shop, with all the valuable articles I had selected so carefully, was about to be smashed and ruined as evidence of the patriotism of the wreckers. Footsteps came on the staircase.
"Hullo," said a husky voice. "All in the dark? War time economy?"
I kept very quiet.
"Surely," the voice went on, "you've got a kiss for me?"
I struggled fiercely as arms went around me. The lights in the road were suddenly turned on, and I found myself giving a bang, with the flat of the hand, on the head of my own dear nephew.
"A fracas in London Street," cried Herbert, amusedly, on seeing my apologetic distress. "Well known resident in assault case. How the warrior boy was welcomed home."
"Herbert," I said, "if I had only guessed it was you—"
"You ought to be out in Flanders," he declared. "Strong fighters are just what we need. But you're trembling, aunt. What's wrong?"
"I'm afraid of these rough people out in the roadway."
He lighted the gas, and throwing up the window, leaned out. The crowd, recognising a soldier, cheered, and somebody started one of the popular airs. Three mounted policemen moved their horses sideways, and the mob surged off.
"Thought you'd got more nerve, aunt," said Herbert.
"I always use to have plenty," I declared. "But, just lately, my stock seems to shew signs of giving out."
"For any special cause?"
It was not necessary to load him up with troubles directly that he arrived. To a challenge about meals, Herbert admitted that he felt peckish. To another inquiry, made as I found the grill, and started the fire, he explained that he had managed to enter the shop by the device of putting one shoulder against the door, and forcing the lock to give way.
"Corporal Millwood," I remarked at the fire-place, "of the Guards is a very different lad from Herbert Millwood who used to pore over his lessons, and get bible-backed and gain scholarships."
"Sergeant Millwood," he said, drawing himself more upright than ever. "Sergeant Millwood, if you please."
I had not observed the extra stripe. "You'll be an officer soon, my dear," I said.
"There happens to be a special reason," he confessed, colouring, "why I should like to get a commission. By-the-bye, now are all the Hilliers? And how's the dad trundling along?"
I told him of his father's new engagement. Herbert, seated at the table, so soon as the meal was ready, could not help breaking off in conversation to return to the subject.
"Fancy the old chap holding such a good hand of trumps!"
"And doing more work for his country, I'll be bound, than many a Staff Officer."
"And the last time I heard him speak in public, he was arguing that we ought to abolish the army and reduce the navy."
Presently, he asked a serious question. "How does he manage about his aitches?"
"It's my belief," I declared, "that half of his success is due to the fact that he doesn't bother in the least concerning them."
Herbert, on the way to the base, had, it appeared, met the Quartermaster-Sergeant; he said that Cartwright spoke, with enjoyment, of the first day of his leave, and insisted upon giving all the details, excepting (I was relieved to find) the last incident at Charing Cross. Herbert said that Cartwright was a good man at his job—which I could well believe—and one of the toughest and sternest N.C.Os. in the British army—which seemed to me incredible. Herbert wished to spend the days of his leave at Greenwich, and I went off to air his father's bed for him.
"Whilst I think of it," he said, when I returned. He was about to put a match to his briar pipe, but held it free of the tobacco whilst he spoke. "Did I ask you how Miss Muriel was, or did I, perhaps, only mean to do so?"
I told him all that happened, described the anxietywe were all experiencing; the match burned down to his finger, but he did not appear to observe the fact. I said Mr. Hillier went up to town each evening, after his work at the Arsenal, and walked, at a swift rate, about different quarters of London in the attempt to find his elder daughter. That Master Edward had supplied officials on his railway with a copy of Miss Muriel's photograph, and an urgent appeal that they would keep a good look-out. That Miss Katherine, in all of her spare time from the bank, made inquiries at girls' clubs, and homes, and associations. That the one card received by me was written in a confident manner, and that I was still hoping.
"Still hoping?" he echoed, rather sharply. "No use in doing that. Plenty of folk are still hoping in regard to the war, and doing precious little else." He found his cap, and put it on: looked around for his great-coat.
"Where are you going, Herbert, my dear?"
"Going to try to find her," he answered. "If she's lost, I don't care a hang what becomes of me!" Within two minutes he had gone.
The extraordinary thing, from my point of view, was that I, reckoning myself a woman who took notice of everything that went on around me, should have omitted to notice that my nephew was in love, should have had no sort of idea that he was in love with Miss Muriel. I wished I had taken the opportunity to tell him of the girl's defects; her indifference to everyone but herself, her ever-changing projects, her frank intention of marrying money, the circumstance that she alone, out of all the members of the Hillier family, had allowed the war to have no effect upon her. But when I considered this, it became clear that nothing I said would have made any alteration, so far as Herbert was concerned. If someone had called at the shop and mentioned that Cartwright had killed three wives, and was now liable to a charge of bigamy, it is probable I should have contented myself with the remark thatat any rate he was a well-spoken and a good-looking man. And this in no way means that love is blind. On the contrary, love uses eye-glasses which have the ability to exaggerate all the virtues of the person looked at, and to minimise all the defects.
A postcard arrived from Herbert on the last day of his leave: it was headed Victoria Station, and it had been written with an indelible pencil.
"Have not discovered her. Good-bye. Please send me news."
I had little time to enjoy the pleasures and amenities of Greenwich, but I saw enough of the borough to assure myself that, despite an air of increasing age, it was not without its attractions. There was always the riverside with the pier and arriving and departing steamers, ships going up and down, and a walk to be taken along the narrow railed passage from King William Street to Park Row, and, at low tide, bare-legged youngsters playing on the beach, or larking with the high and dry boats. There was the market, off Nelson Street, where those of us who were economically minded made selections and effected bargains.
I recall, in particular, a Sunday afternoon of May when the Park gave me a special comfort of mind. The week had been a trying one. TheLusitaniashock had not passed off, a question of re-arranging the Cabinet was in the air, and local politicians shook their heads, and, making groups near the Baths corner of Royal Hill, discussed the matter gravely; the London tram-strike was still on; one or two journals were making an attack on Kitchener; up in the north there had occurred the worst railway accident that ever happened in Great Britain, with two hundred of the Royal Scots killed; a two days' list of casualties from the front contained over three thousand names; the Germans were using new methods, and we had lost some ground near Ypres; there had been naval disasters, and a wooden tip-cat, driven by an energetic childwith a stick, had caught me just under the eye. I went out of Gloucester Place where sun-blinds had been fixed on the balconies, and entered the Park by the Crooms' Hill gate that enabled one to avoid the at times over-crowded lower part. The pink hawthorn was in full blossom, yellow laburnum was at its best, chestnut trees were candelabraed with white, and, in the enclosure at the foot of the Observatory Hill, wild grasses stood thick and high. The inclined roadway took me to the tea-house, where, inside the tall railings, folk sat at tables in the shadow of trees, and watched the friendly sparrows that hopped about on the close-shaven lawn. There, it was possible on that Sunday afternoon to forget about the war (on week-days there came the boom of testing of guns at Woolwich to remind, and the hurrying to and fro of Red Cross vans, and the War Department motor lorries). There, one could gaze north and see nothing but the calm sky; at the end of the Avenue the Park took a sudden dip, and landscape was out of sight. Captain and Mrs. Winterton came in at the gate as I was at my second cup; folk commented on their odd appearance, and young women giggled, but to me it seemed that the surroundings fitted them appropriately.
"Miss Weston," said the old gentleman, in his courteous way, "you are enjoying solitude, and we will not permit ourselves to intrude upon your thoughts."
"I happened," I remarked, "to be thinking of nothing at all."
"A fortunate state," he declared. "I discover, in my own case, that a slight effort is needed to effect this."
"The terrible war, sir—"
"My love!" Turning to his wife. "Shall we tell her? I think she would be interested to know? We can regard Miss Weston as a friend."
"Do as you think best, dear," said the old lady.
He gave orders to the waitress, and taking me across to the railings, pointed with his malacca cane. "Under that tree," he whispered, confidentially, "in the month of May and in a year that was long, long before you, dear madam, graced the world with your presence, I proposed marriage to the lady who is now Mrs. Winterton!" He stepped back two paces, and gazed at me; I (for the second time) gave the look of surprise that was expected. Captain Winterton offered his arm, and we returned to his wife. She nodded pleasantly to indicate that I might now reckon myself amongst the privileged few, and inside the circle of friends.
In the Wilderness at the south end of the Avenue, sweet smelling azaleas welcomed one, and the imposing rhododendrons were at the summit of their pride; in a week or two they would lose colour, and come down in the world, but on this afternoon they were wealthy aristocrats. Young couples sat about, declining to disengage hands when older folk approached, and the sight made me think that I might perhaps have cultivated romance, and thus have rendered my life the happier. The gates to Blackheath, and there, after the shade of the Park was a sun-illuminated space, so extensive that, but for the distant houses on the borders, it would have been easy to imagine oneself in the country. The heath furnished a slight breeze that invigorated, and I walked along Dover Road to Shooters' Hill, turned and came down into Blackheath village, took Belmont Hill to the Obelisk, and so home by Lewisham Road and South Street. By the time I arrived, I had forgotten to worry about the absence of sentiment from my current life; a Sunday evening newspaper boy racing up Royal Hill, brought my thoughts again to the war.
I think I was not alone at Greenwich, in owing a debt to the Park. For the folk in mourning who increased in number each week, church was perhapsmore consoling, and it was significant that even my brother-in-law, Millwood, no longer jibed at people who attended places of worship.
In looking back, I find it difficult to understand how it happened that folk managed to keep up an appearance of serenity and composure; I think there must have been tears on pillows, but nobody showed them to the world. For one thing, there was the example of the men out at the front. We all knew, from the start of the war, that they would fight well; few guessed they would fight so gaily. I used to take cigarettes and illustrated papers along to the hospital in Greenwich Road, and my friend, the Sister there, could always introduce some humorist who had returned grievously wounded perhaps, but rarely so much damaged as to be deprived of his diverting outlook; the exceptions were to be found amongst those who suffered from the gas poison first used by the enemy, and for these the world did seem wanting in attraction. When other subjects failed, and when the good-tempered men had exhausted jokes about water-filled trenches, and shells that sent earth into the soup, and mines that blew up unexpectedly, then there remained the visitors. These were always well meaning, but they often seemed imperfectly furnished with openings for conversation. (In my own case, I found that the carrying of a box of matches, and the offer of it to a patient who was about to smoke, proved a useful method of starting talk.)
"Where were you wounded?" was the usual inquiry, and the soldier could never tell whether the questioner wanted geographical or bodily information. "I am sure you must be dreadfully keen on getting back to the fighting line," was a remark that did not always gain an enthusiastic and affirmative answer. "How we envy you in being able to take a part in the struggle!" sometimes received a non-committal jerk of the head; the Sister and thenurses listened later to the comments on this aspiration. The sentence that remained long in the memory of the ward was one made by a wealthy woman from Blackheath. She arrived, with the obvious determination to say the correct, the tactful, the exactly appropriate word.
"And what injuries have you sustained, my man?"
"Well, lady, as you see, I've lost my left arm, and I've got rather an extensive collection of shrapnel in my right leg."
"Oh," she remarked, casually, "is that all!" And passed on to the next bed. The Sister declared that imitations of this visitor were popular for weeks.
I think women-folk showed to better advantage in the entertainments they arranged. There were large houses in the district, possessing extensive grounds, and parties of convalescent soldiers would be taken by cars, and a concert provided, and plenty of food, and if the men were not rendered shy by excessive suggestion of patronage, they enjoyed the outing, and it counted for restoration to good health. And some of them must have felt astonished to discover kindness where they had never guessed that kindness existed; I know, from what certain of them told me, that they would remember it for the rest of their lives.
"You can take my word for it, ma'am," said one, impressively. "The upper classes ain't nearly so black as what they've been painted!" He ruminated for a while. "Human beings," he went on, "that's what they are. Human beings, almost as good as the rest of us."
I felt myself drawn towards the north country-men, who had trouble in making themselves understood by Londoners, and who became puzzled by the methods of London speech. Four of these came from Northumberland, and when they were allowed to go out of an afternoon, they understood that, if the weather chanced to be erratic, and the Park gave no welcome, they could make their way to London Street,and rest in my shop, and look at newspapers, and smoke, and have high tea; the great attraction offered was freedom to talk amongst themselves with no interference. As each recovered, he went home on leave, and I treasure now, more than most things, a sheet of exercise book paper, written by a child living at South Shields:—
"Dear lady,Thank you verry much for being kinde to my Daddy,Your loving friend,Milly."
"Dear lady,
Thank you verry much for being kinde to my Daddy,
Your loving friend,Milly."
CHAPTER X
Aletter came from my Quartermaster-Sergeant.
"We have been having a busy time lately. Nothing else but marching and fighting, and the regiment was in the great attack described correctly in the London papers of the 15th under the heading of 'British Check.' But I am pleased to be able to tell you that another attack has taken place, which proved a huge success, and the advantage is being followed up at the time of writing."Would you like to send me two re-fills for my electric lamp; address in the Strand enclosed. It is difficult work to find one's way about at night on unfamiliar ground. Hope you are keeping well and fit, as it leaves me at present."
"We have been having a busy time lately. Nothing else but marching and fighting, and the regiment was in the great attack described correctly in the London papers of the 15th under the heading of 'British Check.' But I am pleased to be able to tell you that another attack has taken place, which proved a huge success, and the advantage is being followed up at the time of writing.
"Would you like to send me two re-fills for my electric lamp; address in the Strand enclosed. It is difficult work to find one's way about at night on unfamiliar ground. Hope you are keeping well and fit, as it leaves me at present."
There was the strike on with the tramway men, and I had to go by rail to make the purchase. The train went to Cannon Street only, and in running across there from one platform to another, I nearly came into collision with Guard Richards who was also in a hurry.
"Caught sight of your Miss Muriel t'other evening," he called out.
"Where," I demanded stopping, "and how was she, and what is she doing?"
William Richards had disappeared through one of the barriers, and did not hear my question. It was something, however, to know that the adventurous girl was still alive.
At the shop in the Strand I put the usual inquiry to the attendant—"How do you find business?"—and he said he found nothing to complain about, and Imentioned that I, too, had no cause to grumble. Hedging slightly, he remarked that he felt sorry that in the old days, before the war, he had devoted so much time and money to a favourite hobby; his wife—"She's got a bitter way of talking when she likes!"—aided and encouraged by her mother, never failed, it appeared, to hold him up to ridicule of an evening when he returned home, to take supper. I had given a few vague words of sympathy, and the counsel to take no notice, and was leaving when he happened to say that anybody who once began to collect old furniture was considered by non-collectors as on the road to Colney Hatch. Within ten minutes, I had promised to wait for him near the post office, and journey northwards in order to look at his stock, and to see whether I felt inclined to make an offer, and take the whole lot off his hands. There would have been less celerity over the early part of the transaction but that, as I explained to him, it was rarely I found myself so near to his district, and, as he explained to me, he had, to appease his wife and her relatives, given the assurance that he was taking active steps to get rid of the articles which crowded the rooms. On the way, he suddenly expressed the wish that I had been a member of his own sex. He did not know what his wife would say when she found he had brought a lady, unknown to her, into the house. He expressed the view that if the Zeppelins ever dared to come over London, they would receive from her as good as they gave.
The wife quickly informed him of her attitude in regard to my visit. So soon as he opened the front door of his house with his latch key, and immediately that she heard my voice, she ordered the two maids to go upstairs. Herself conducted us into the drawing-room.
"I've been anticipating this," she said, tearfully, "and I fully recognise, David, that I'm partly responsible. I've got a jealous disposition, and Iexpect it will be my curse and companion to the very end of my life."
"Miss Weston has come here—" he began.
"I know!" interrupted his wife, finding her handkerchief. "I quite understand, and the fewer words we exchange on the subject, the better. Perhaps if there had been children, it might have been different. Very likely if I had been more tactful in speech, this terrible business could have been put off for a while. Think as kindly of me as you can, David."
"I always do, my dear, and—"
"No," she contradicted, with a show of truculence. "I'm not going to allow you to say that. I am ready to take my just share of the blame, but not more. You know as well as I do that I stand very low in your estimation, compared for instance with that Oliver Cromwell chair you picked up somewhere in Essex three years ago. I needn't tell you that you love that gate table in the next room with a devotion you never gave to me, even in the early days of our acquaintance. It's been a hideous blunder, David, this marriage of ours, and now that you have taken a definite proceeding by bringing another woman into the house—"
"What a foolish person you are!" I exclaimed.
"Don't you dare speak to me," she ordered. "David I am sorry for, but you I consider beneath my estimation. Heaven knows by what tricks and dodges you have succeeded in weaving your mesh around him."
"My dear," said her husband, "this lady and I have met this evening for the first time."
"That makes it worse, David. But I always suspected you were really fond of tall women, and I cannot be blind to the fact that I am short and stout. I only hope—"
I managed to induce her to cease talking after a while, and, in a few sharp words, described the reason of my visit. The strange thing was that so soon as Ihad forced her to comprehend this, her annoyance with her husband knew no bounds. Why had he mis-led her in this preposterous manner? Why was he never so happy as when inducing his poor wife to make herself a laughing stock? As to the furniture, she felt by no means inclined to allow it to go. Any allusions she had made in the past were given, she declared, more for the purpose of keeping up genial conversation than anything else. Certainly, she did not propose to have the house emptied of half its contents, bought mainly with her cash, in order to gratify a man who rarely thought of any plan or scheme likely to make her existence cheerful.
"Nothing can be done," I remarked to the husband. "It isn't your fault. I must see about making my way back to Greenwich."
"I'd like you just to look at my collection," he said. "You're a bit of an expert, I can tell, and it would be interesting to know what you think of the purchases I have made during the past ten years. I may have been taken in over some of them."
"I can give you fifteen minutes."
In the list of eccentric people I have met, the lady of this house well deserves a first place. During the quarter of an hour, her mind went to every point of the compass. When I said a word in praise of the half-dozen Hepplewhite chairs, she announced that she would sooner die than permit anything to be taken out of the house: when I commented strongly on a faked Sheraton sideboard, she said disconsolately that a van had better be sent for the rubbish on the following morning. Her husband was described alternately, as the wisest and shrewdest darling in the world, and, a moment later, as a drivelling idiot.
"Don't you think so yourself, ma'am?" she inquired, at one moment.
"Undoubtedly," I answered.
It appeared I had carelessly agreed with one of her condemnatory remarks, and, swirling around, sheordered me to leave the house. Who was I, she would like to know, to venture to criticise her David? What did I mean by coming there, a perfect stranger, simply in order to hold her dear one up to ridicule? The dear one conducted me to the front door, muttering apologies on the way.
"Never marry anyone who's got money," he counselled.
"There doesn't seem to be much of a catch in it."
"Sorry you have been brought all this way for nothing. You've got a fine night for your journey home, anyway. Fortunately, you're one of the sensible people who take no notice of all this wild talk about air-raids. Mind the steps," he added, counting them as I went down. "One, two, three; that's right!"
The first thunderous clamouring bang came as he had nearly closed the door. He rushed out, caught hold of my arm, and pulled me in. Another tremendous report sounded as we stumbled over the mat. The two maids rushed wildly down the staircase and, throwing themselves upon me in a hysterical manner, babbled questions, begged that I would save them, urged that I should remain in the house for their protection.
"There's no danger now," I said. "It's all over. The Zepps are a long way off by this time. Come into this room, and let us see how your mistress is taking it."
The lady of the house had fainted with great promptitude, and the discovery of some one more considerably affected by the incident than themselves, restored the girls to composure. Dogs were barking out of doors, and there was shouting by children; the explosions had awakened birds in the trees at the back of the road. A fire engine went along, clanging its bell.
"I'm all serene," announced the astonishing lady, when she was able to sit up. "Appear to have taken it much more calmly than the rest of you. It's a great mistake to let the Germans imagine they canfrighten us. David, give the maids something to drink, and let them go upstairs again."
She mentioned, when the others were out of the room, that her people had always been renowned for their courage, and that it was a considerable help, in time of need, to feel one had to keep up this reputation. I remarked that the bombs had fallen near enough to excuse alarm; for myself, I had no desire for a closer acquaintance.
"Now that they have come once," she said, complacently, "they will come again. I shouldn't wonder if they arrived every night, regularly."
"Cheerful anticipation!"
"I can always look facts in the face," she remarked. "Nothing daunts me. I possess the heart of a lion. The word 'fear' has no existence where I am concerned." She went to the mirror, and beamed at her reflection. "Do you think he will mind giving up the house?"
Her husband's return saved me the trouble of guessing at the meaning of this inquiry. He was ordered to find the A.B.C. and, this done, accepted, with bowed head, all the responsibility for the circumstance that no train ever left Paddington for Wallingford after nine-fifty p.m.
"Then I go there, David," she announced, "early to-morrow, and stay at a farmhouse until the war is over." She asked me rather anxiously whether I thought the enemy's airships were likely to get so far as Berkshire, and, meeting a glance from her husband, I gave the opinion that the county referred to, might be looked upon as safe. In all likelihood, the Germans had never heard of it. "My view exactly," she said. "You will get rid of the house, David, and go into your old bachelor rooms."
"But the furniture, my dear?"
"He has no head for management," remarked the lady to me, apologetically. "You and I must settle this. Name a figure for all the old stuff, and the remainder can go to one of the auction rooms."
Her husband, in seeing me once again, to the front door, mentioned, with a chuckle, that Zeppelin raids had their drawbacks, but that they did appear to be capable of solving a domestic problem.
The circumstance that my journey had not been wasted, in a business sense, helped me to make my way home cheerfully. There was some excitement amongst the people travelling, a great deal of interest, and very little of anything resembling nervousness. One or two who had been at the moment in underground trains regretted their ill-luck in missing the sights and the sounds, declaring that this was but a sample of the misfortune which persistently dogged their footsteps through life, and the others tried to console them up by prophesying hopefully that the occurrence would undoubtedly be repeated. No one could have complained that night of the reticence of the Londoner. Everyone talked to everybody, and one woman with a basket of groundsel possessed special information that made her seem richer than any of the rest of us; she exacted a respect that had, it is certain, not hitherto been paid to her. All the values were, for a time, disturbed. At Greenwich station I met Mr. Hillier. He was waiting for Miss Katherine and her brother, who had gone to a theatre, with orders that had been presented to Master Edward; some of the invented scraps of news had come by the down trains, and Mr. Hillier was anxious. He walked the three sides of the courtyard outside the station, and I remembered the announcement thrown to me by Richards.
"Well now," he declared, "that is really something to be grateful for. Muriel is alive, at any rate. But what I can't understand is, why she is doing it? I don't see the reason. What induced her to run off?"
"I think, sir, that she was fed up with everything. I imagine that she wanted to start afresh."
"But she might have taken you, Weston, or me, or one of us into her confidence."
"Miss Muriel never gave much thought or consideration to other people. She fixed all her regard upon herself, and for that reason, I feel pretty sure that she is not likely to come to any harm. There's plenty of work for girls to do nowadays, and she ought to be taking her share. But I admit I'd like to know more about what's going on."
"I had great theories," he remarked, "when I first married about the bringing up of children. Wonderful theories. Magnificent theories. And, in the result, the children brought themselves up. With help from you, Weston. You came along in time to save three of them; if you had arrived earlier, you might have helped the other one. Don't assume, because we rarely talk about it, that we forget."
"Only earnt my wages, sir."
"I may have taken that view at the time; I see it all more clearly now. And if you should ever meet any of the maids of the old Chislehurst establishment, I'd like them to know, Weston, that I appreciated the services they gave there. I did see one of them on a platform the other day, and I should have spoken to her, but she and her husband were travelling first and I was going third." He drew in his breath sharply.
"You've had a lot to put up with," I remarked, "and, in my opinion, you have stood it uncommonly well."
"Don't mind confessing to you, Weston, that at first it took a bit of doing. Now that I'm in the swing of it, it doesn't require so much effort. Look at my hands!" They gave evidence of hard work in the Arsenal. The palms had become hardened; lines were marked darkly; there was a cut or two, and one finger had the protection of a stall. "Honourable scars, Weston," he said, rather exultantly. "And there are some, too, on the mind, that no one can see. Discover from your friend the guard, so soon as you can, where he caught sight of Muriel. Here come the other two."
Miss Katherine and Master Edward arrived in the high state of excitement that youth can gain from a visit to the play; they were not greatly interested in my news of the raid, but insisted on telling their father and me, on the way to Gloucester Place, the plot of the musical comedy they had seen; a task which made a demand upon their combined efforts. We found Mrs. Hillier waiting up, with a post letter addressed to her husband that, as she admitted, she had refrained from opening only by an effort; I could not help recalling the times when she would have shown no such consideration. The writing was Miss Muriel's; we made an eager semi-circle to listen to the communication.
"I'm sorry," said Mr. Hillier, brokenly, "but I—I can't read it. Weston, you try."
Miss Muriel gave no address at the head of the letter, and the wording had something of the romantic and poetic touch that she always favoured. Having encountered a railway friend of Weston's who mentioned that her people were worried and perturbed about her, she was now sending a line to assure her father that she was well, and in no need of money. Miss Muriel announced that she had engaged upon the task of re-forming her character, and did not intend to return home until this process was completed. She sent love to all, "including dear fussy Weston." The note contained nothing more, and each of us, in turn, searched it carefully, and held it up to the light, examined the envelope.
"Not much," decided Mr. Hillier, "but better than no news."
"The dear child is in good health anyway," remarked his wife.
"The dear child," said Miss Katherine, "might have a little more consideration for her relatives. If I happen to meet the dear child, I shall talk to her in the manner that Dutch uncles are supposed to adopt."
"'Re-forming her character,'" quoted MasterEdward, taking the note again. "'Re-forming,' with a hyphen. I haven't the slightest idea what she means. A silly phrase, I call it."
"She means improving it," I said, quickly. "And I like the tone of her letter. The handwriting is firmer than it used to be. She's in no trouble, and that's the great thing."
"But," argued the lad, frowning, "how is she getting money?"
"This parcel of mine," I said, changing the conversation, and producing the articles bought in the Strand, "ought I suppose to go in a wooden box if it is to travel safely to France."
Miss Katherine, following my lead, inquired regarding the contents, and pointed out to the others that Weston was sparing no efforts in the endeavour to trap and secure the Quartermaster-Sergeant. Going on with her chaff, she expressed the hope that she herself would never have to adopt such unworthy means in order to capture the affections of a male bird. Rather than force gifts upon a coy recipient, Miss Katherine declared she was willing to remain a spinster with nothing in the shape of love but a deep and unswerving affection for bank work. Master Edward, coming in on my side, mentioned that Katherine had lent her opera glasses that evening to an enamoured youth seated beside her in the stalls. Miss Katherine declared that the gentleman was in no way enamoured, that his age was well over seventy, and that she had offered the glasses with no other motive than that of preventing her brother from gazing through them absorbedly at a six foot lady on the stage. The two gave us some of the tunes they had heard, acted one of the scenes.
"Bed, children," ordered their mother. "You both have to be up early in the morning."
"Shan't feel much inclined to turn out."
"I'll see to that," I promised.
Whereupon the young people described me as thecurse of the household, as a woman with an insane craving for breakfast at eight, one devoid of consideration for anybody under the rank of a Quartermaster-Sergeant. I put an end to the discussion by taking Miss Katherine in my arms, and carrying her upstairs as I had often done when she was a small girl; I threatened to return and perform a like service for Master Edward.
"Weston," said Miss Katherine, in her room, "joking apart, and speaking with a full knowledge of the importance of the announcement, let me tell you in strict confidence, that the hour is not far distant when I shall not have to depend, for company, upon my respected brother. Of course we can't insure against war risks, but the outlook, Weston, may be regarded as hopeful. Decidedly hopeful."
"When the time comes, miss, I can only hope you will be as happy as you deserve to be."
"I am looking forward," remarked the girl, "to being much happier than that!"
Cartwright acknowledged receipt of the package in a long letter written with such an ineffective pencil that, at first, I did not trouble to read it to the end; a van, at the moment, was arriving from the north of London, and the elderly men in charge, explaining that all the firm's young chaps had enlisted, announced there had been difficulty enough in loading the furniture; they appeared to regard the task of discharging it as impossible. Luckily, my brother-in-law, Millwood, came along: he had some engagements to speak near town, and desired to take up residence at London Street for a few days. He took off his coat at once, put on green baize apron, set to work. Sales had been good at the shop of late, and by a little shifting, and re-arrangement, space was made. Millwood talked as we engaged upon the job, and I had difficulty in understanding the trend of his remarks. After a while, I discovered that he was cultivatingalliterativeness in speech, and, being challenged, he admitted that he found the trick extremely effective in speaking to audiences.
"I enjoy myself no end," he remarked, as we carried in an escritoire. "Generally I'm called upon at the finish, when everybody has just about had enough of 'igh class talk, and of well-educated chaps saying the same thing over and over again. I give it to 'em straight from the shoulder. Definite as a door-knocker. A tornado of truth. An avalanche of asseverations."
"And don't they guy you?"
"In some places, a slight tendency to do this, at the start. But I tell 'em a pathetic story about a soldier's little daughter, and after that I can do what I like. I make 'em cry, and I make 'em laugh. The tribulation of tears, and the deportment of diversion. See what I mean? And, before I sit down, I turn on the patriotic key, and they shout the blooming roof half off. Mary Weston, you ought to see the swell ladies come up afterwards and offer their congratulations."