Though habitually abstemious, Mr. Lavender was so very hungry that evening when he sat down to supper that he was unable to leave the lobster which Mrs. Petty had provided until it was reduced to mere integument. Since his principles prevented his lightening it with anything but ginger-beer he went to bed in some discomfort, and, tired out with the emotions of the day, soon fell into a heavy slumber, which at dawn became troubled by a dream of an extremely vivid character. He fancied himself, indeed, dressed in khaki, with a breastplate composed of newspapers containing reports of speeches which he had been charged to deliver to soldiers at the front. He was passing in a winged tank along those scenes of desolation of which he had so often read in his daily papers, and which his swollen fancy now coloured even more vividly than had those striking phrases of the past, when presently the tank turned a somersault, and shot him out into a morass lighted up by countless star-shells whizzing round and above. In this morass were hundreds and thousands of figures sunk like himself up to the waist, and waving their arms above their heads. “These,” thought Mr. Lavender, “must be the soldiers I have come to speak to,” and he tore a sheet off his breastplate; but before he could speak from its columns it became thin air in his hand; and he went on tearing off sheet after sheet, hoping to find a speech which would stay solid long enough for him to deliver it. At last a little corner stayed substantial in his hand, and he called out in a loud voice: “Heroes!”
But at the word the figures vanished with a wail, sinking into the mud, which was left covered with bubbles iridescent in the light of the star-shells. At this moment one of these, bursting over his head, turned into a large bright moon; and Mr. Lavender saw to his amazement that the bubbles were really butterflies, perched on the liquid moonlit mud, fluttering their crimson wings, and peering up at him with tiny human faces. “Who are you?” he cried; “oh! who are you?” The butterflies closed their wings; and on each of their little faces came a look so sad and questioning that Mr. Lavender's tears rolled down into his breastplate of speeches. A whisper rose from them. “We are the dead.” And they flew up suddenly in swarms, and beat his face with their wings.
Mr. Lavender woke up sitting in the middle of the floor, with light shining in on him through a hole in the curtain, and Blink licking off the tears which were streaming down his face.
“Blink,” he said, “I have had a horrible dream.” And still conscious of that weight on his chest, as of many undelivered speeches, he was afraid to go back to bed; so, putting on some clothes, he went carefully downstairs and out of doors into the morning. He walked with his dog towards the risen sun, alone in the silvery light of Hampstead, meditating deeply on his dream. “I have evidently,” he thought, “not yet acquired that felicitous insensibility which is needful for successful public speaking. This is undoubtedly the secret of my dream. For the sub-conscious knowledge of my deficiency explains the weight on my chest and the futile tearing of sheet after sheet, which vanished as I tore them away. I lack the self-complacency necessary to the orator in any surroundings, and that golden certainty which has enchanted me in the outpourings of great men, whether in ink or speech. This is, however, a matter which I can rectify with practice.” And coming to a little may-tree in full blossom, he thus addressed it:
“Little tree, be my audience, for I see in you, tipped with the sunlight, a vision of the tranquil and beautiful world, which, according to every authority, will emerge out of this carnival of blood and iron.”
And the little tree lifted up its voice and answered him with the song of a blackbird.
Mr. Lavender's heart, deeply responsive to the voice of Nature, melted within him.
“What are the realms of this earth, the dreams of statesmen, and all plots and policies,” he said, “compared with the beauty of this little tree? She—or is it a he?—breathes, in her wild and simple dress, just to be lovely and loved. He harbours the blackbird, and shakes fragrance into the morning; and with her blossom catches the rain and the sun drops of heaven. I see in him the witchery of God; and of her prettiness would I make a song of redemption.”
So saying he knelt down before the little tree, while Blink on her haunches, very quiet beside him, looked wiser than many dogs.
A familiar gurgling sound roused him from his devotions, and turning his head he saw his young neighbour in the garb of a nurse, standing on the path behind him. “She has dropped from heaven,” he thought for all nurses are angels.
And, taking off his hat, he said:
“You surprised me at a moment of which I am not ashamed; I was communing with Beauty. And behold! Aurora is with me.”
“Say, rather, Borealis,” said the young lady. “I was so fed-up with hospital that I had to have a scamper before turning in. If you're going home we might go together?”
“It would, indeed, be a joy,” said Mr. Lavender. “The garb of mercy becomes you.”
“Do you think so?” replied the young lady, in whose cheeks a lovely flush had not deepened. “I call it hideous. Do you always come out and pray to that tree?”
“I am ashamed to say,” returned Mr. Lavender, “that I do not. But I intend to do so in future, since it has brought me such a vision.”
And he looked with such deferential and shining eyes at his companion that she placed the back of her hand before her mouth, and her breast rose.
“I'm most fearfully sleepy,” she said. “Have you had any adventures lately—you and Samjoe?
“Samjoe?” repeated Mr. Lavender.
“Your chauffeur—I call him that. He's very like Sam Weller and Sancho Panza, don't you think, Don Pickwixote?
“Ah!” said Mr. Lavender, bewildered; “Joe, you mean. A good fellow. He has in him the sort of heroism which I admire more than any other.”
“Which is that?” asked the young lady.
“That imperturbable humour in the face of adverse circumstances for which our soldiers are renowned.”
“You are a great believer in heroics, Don Pickwixote,” said the young lady.
“What would life be without them?” returned Mr. Lavender. “The war could not go on for a minute.”
“You're right there,” said the young lady bitterly.
“You surely,” said Mr. Lavender, aghast, “cannot wish it to stop until we have destroyed our common enemies?”
“Well,” said the young lady, “I'm not a Pacifist; but when you see as many people without arms and legs as I do, heroics get a bit off, don't you know.” And she increased her pace until Mr. Lavender, who was not within four inches of her stature, was almost compelled to trot. “If I were a Tommy,” she added, “I should want to shoot every man who uttered a phrase. Really, at this time of day, they are the limit.”
“Aurora,” said Mr. Lavender, “if you will permit me, who am old enough—alas!—to be your father, to call you that, you must surely be aware that phrases are the very munitions of war, and certainly not less important than mere material explosives. Take the word 'Liberty,' for instance; would you deprive us of it?”
The young lady fixed on him those large grey eyes which had in them the roll of genius. “Dear Don Pickwixote,” she said, “I would merely take it from the mouths of those who don't know what it means; and how much do you think would be left? Not enough to butter the parsnips of a Borough Council, or fill one leader in a month of Sundays. Have you not discovered, Don Pickwixote, that Liberty means the special form of tyranny which one happens to serve under; and that our form of tyranny is GAS.”
“High heaven!” cried Mr. Lavender, “that I should hear such words from so red lips!”
“I've not been a Pacifist, so far,” continued the young lady, stifling a yawn, “because I hate cruelty, I hate it enough to want to be cruel to it. I want the Huns to lap their own sauce. I don't want to be revengeful, but I just can't help it.”
“My dear young lady,” said Mr. Lavender soothingly, “you are not—you cannot be revengeful; for every great writer and speaker tells us that revengefulness is an emotion alien to the Allies, who are merely just.
“Rats!”
At this familiar word, Blink who had been following their conversation quietly, threw up her nose and licked the young lady's hand so unexpectedly that she started and added:
“Darling!”
Mr. Lavender, who took the expression as meant for himself, coloured furiously.
“Aurora,” he said in a faint voice, “the rapture in my heart prevents my taking advantage of your sweet words. Forgive me, and let us go quietly in, with the vision I have seen, for I know my place.”
The young lady's composure seemed to tremble in the balance, and her lips twitched; then holding out her hand she took Mr. Lavender's and gave it a good squeeze.
“You really are a dear,” she said. “I think you ought to be in bed. My name's Isabel, you know.”
“Not to me,” said Mr. Lavender. “You are the Dawn; nothing shall persuade me to the contrary. And from henceforth I swear to rise with you every morning.”
“Oh, no!” cried the young lady, “please don't imagine that I sniff the matutinal as a rule. I just happened to be in a night shift.”
“No matter,” said Mr. Lavender; “I shall see you with the eye of faith, in your night shifts, and draw from the vision strength to continue my public work beckoned by the fingers of the roseate future.”
“Well,” murmured the young lady, “so long for now; and do go back to bed. It's only about five.” And waving the tips of those fingers, she ran lightly up the garden-path and disappeared into her house.
Mr. Lavender remained for a moment as if transfigured; then entering his garden, he stood gazing up at her window, until the thought that she might appear there was too much for him, and he went in.
While seated at breakfast on the morning after he had seen this vision, Mr. Lavender, who read his papers as though they had been Holy Writ, came on an announcement that a meeting would be held that evening at a chapel in Holloway under the auspices of the “Free Speakers' League,” an association which his journals had often branded with a reputation, for desiring Peace. On reading the names of the speakers Mr. Lavender felt at once that it would be his duty to attend. “There will,” he thought, “very likely be no one there to register a protest. For in this country we have pushed the doctrine of free speech to a limit which threatens the noble virtue of patriotism. This is no doubt a recrudescence of that terrible horse-sense in the British people which used to permit everybody to have his say, no matter what he said. Yet I would rather stay at home,” he mused “for they will do me violence, I expect; cowardice, however, would not become me, and I must go.”
He was in a state of flurry all day, thinking of his unpleasant duty towards those violent persons, and garbishing up his memory by reading such past leaders in his five journals as bore on the subject. He spoke no word of his intentions, convinced that he ran a considerable risk at the hands of the Pacifists, but too sensible of his honour to assist anyone to put that spoke in his wheel which he could not help longing for.
At six o'clock he locked Blink into his study, and arming himself with three leaders, set forth on his perilous adventure. Seven o'clock saw him hurrying along the dismal road to the chapel, at whose door he met with an unexpected check.
“Where is your ticket?” said a large man.
“I have none,” replied Mr. Lavender, disconcerted; “for this is a meeting of the Free Speakers' League, and it is for that reason that I have come.”
The large man looked at him attentively. “No admittance without ticket,” he said.
“I protest,” said Mr. Lavender. “How can you call yourselves by that name and not let me in?”
The large man smiled.
“Well, he said, you haven't the strength of—of a rabbit—in you go!”
Mr. Lavender found himself inside and some indignation.
The meeting had begun, and a tall man at the pulpit end, with the face of a sorrowful bull, was addressing an audience composed almost entirely of women and old men, while his confederates sat behind him trying to look as if they were not present. At the end of a row, about half-way up the chapel, Mr. Lavender composed himself to listen, thinking, “However eager I may be to fulfil my duty and break up this meeting, it behoves me as a fair-minded man to ascertain first what manner of meeting it is that I am breaking up.” But as the speaker progressed, in periods punctuated by applause from what, by his experience at the door, Mr. Lavender knew to be a packed audience, he grew more and more uneasy. It cannot be said that he took in what the speaker was saying, obsessed as he was by the necessity of formulating a reply, and of revolving, to the exclusion of all else, the flowers and phrases of the leaders which during the day he had almost learned by heart. But by nature polite he waited till the orator was sitting down before he rose, and, with the three leaders firmly grasped in his hand, walked deliberately up to the seated speakers. Turning his back on them, he said, in a voice to which nervousness and emotion lent shrillness:
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is now your turn, in accordance with the tradition of your society, to listen to me. Let us not mince matters with mealy mouths. There are in our midst certain viperous persons, like that notorious gentleman who had the sulphurous impudence to have a French father—French! gentlemen; not German, ladies-mark the cunning and audacity of the fellow; like that renegade Labour leader, who has never led anything, yet, if he had his will, would lead us all into the pit of destruction; like those other high-brow emasculates who mistake their pettifogging pedantry for pearls of price, and plaster the plain issue before us with perfidious and Pacifistic platitudes. We say at once, and let them note it, we will have none of them; we will have——” Here his words were drowned by an interruption greater even than that; which was fast gathering among the row of speakers behind him, and the surprised audience in front; and he could see the large man being forced from the door and up the aisle by a posse of noisy youths, till he stood with arms pinioned, struggling to turn round, just in front of Mr. Lavender. Seeing his speech thus endangered, the latter cried out at the top of his voice: “Free speech, gentlemen, free speech; I have come here expressly to see that we have nothing of the sort.” At this the young men, who now filled the aisle, raised a mighty booing.
“Gentlemen,” shouted Mr. Lavender, waving his leaders, “gentlemen—-” But at this moment the large man was hurled into contact with what served Mr. Lavender for stomach, and the two fell in confusion. An uproar ensued of which Mr. Lavender was more than vaguely conscious, for many feet went over him. He managed, however, to creep into a corner, and, getting up, surveyed the scene. The young men who had invaded the meeting, much superior in numbers and strength to the speakers, to the large man, and the three or four other able-bodied persons who had rallied to them from among the audience, were taking every advantage of their superiority; and it went to Mr. Lavender's heart to see how they thumped and maltreated their opponents. The sight of their brutality, indeed, rendered him so furious that, forgetting all his principles and his purpose in coming to the meeting, he climbed on to a form, and folding his arms tightly on his breast, called out at the top of his voice:
“Cads! Do not thus take advantage of your numbers. Cads!” Having thus defended what in his calmer moments he would have known to be the wrong, he awaited his own fate calmly. But in the hubbub his words had passed unnoticed. “It is in moments like these,” he thought, “that the great speaker asserts his supremacy, quells the storm, and secures himself a hearing.” And he began to rack his brains to remember how they did it. “It must require the voice of an ox,” he thought, “and the skin of an alligator. Alas! How deficient I am in public qualities!” But his self-depreciation was here cut off with the electric light. At this sheer intervention of Providence Mr. Lavender, listening to the disentangling sounds which rose in the black room, became aware that he had a chance such as he had not yet had of being heard.
“Stay, my friends!” he said; “here in darkness we can see better the true proportions of this great question of free speech. There are some who contend that in a democracy every opinion should be heard; that, just because the good sense of the majority will ever lead the country into the right paths, the minority should be accorded full and fair expression, for they cannot deflect the country's course, and because such expression acts as a healthful safety-valve. Moreover, they say there is no way of preventing the minority from speaking save that of force, which is unworthy of a majority, and the negation of what we are fighting for in this war. But I say, following the great leader-writers, that in a time of national danger nobody ought to say anything except what is in accord with the opinions of the majority; for only in this way can we present a front which will seem to be united to our common enemies. I say, and since I am the majority I must be in the right, that no one who disagrees with me must say anything if we are to save the cause of freedom and humanity. I deprecate violence, but I am thoroughly determined to stand no nonsense, and shall not hesitate to suppress by every means in the power of the majority—including, if need be, Prussian measures—any whisper from those misguided and unpatriotic persons whose so-called principles induce them to assert their right to have opinions of their own. This has ever been a free country, and they shall not imperil its freedom by their volubility and self-conceit.” Here Mr. Lavender paused for breath, and in the darkness a faint noise, as of a mouse scrattling at a wainscot, attracted his attention. “Wonderful,” he thought, elated by the silence, “that I should so have succeeded in riveting their attention as to be able to hear a mouse gnawing. I must have made a considerable impression.” And, fearing to spoil it by further speech, he set to work to grope his way round the chapel wall in the hope of coming to the door. He had gone but a little way when his outstretched hand came into contact with something warm, which shrank away with a squeal.
“Oh!” cried Mr. Lavender, while a shiver went down his spine, “what is that?”
“Me,” said a stifled voice. “Who are you?”
“A public speaker, madam,” answered Mr. Lavender, unutterably relieved. Don't be alarmed.
“Ouch!” whispered the voice. That madman!
“I assure you, madam,” replied Mr. Lavender, striving to regain contact, “I wouldn't harm you for the world. Can you tell me in what portion of the hall we are?” And crouching down he stretched out his arms and felt about him. No answer came; but he could tell that he was between two rows of chairs, and, holding to the top of one, he began to sidle along, crouching, so as not to lose touch with the chairs behind him. He had not proceeded the length of six chairs in the pitchy darkness when the light was suddenly turned up, and he found himself glaring over the backs of the chairs in front into the eyes of a young woman, who was crouching and glaring back over the same chairs.
“Dear me,” said Mr. Lavender, as with a certain dignity they both rose to their full height, “I had no conception——”
Without a word, the young woman put her hand up to her back hair, sidled swiftly down the row of chairs, ran down the aisle, and vanished. There was no one else in the chapel. Mr. Lavender, after surveying the considerable wreckage, made his way to the door and passed out into the night. “Like a dream,” he thought; “but I have done my duty, for no meeting was ever more completely broken up. With a clear conscience and a good appetite I can how go home.”
Greatly cheered by his success at the Peace meeting, Mr. Lavender searched his papers next morning to find a new field for his activities; nor had he to read far before he came on this paragraph:
“Everything is dependent on transport, and we cannot sufficientlyurge that this should be speeded up byevery means in our power.”
“How true!” he thought. And, finishing his breakfast hastily, he went out with Blink to think over what he could do to help. “I can exhort,” he mused, “anyone engaged in transport who is not exerting himself to the utmost. It will not be pleasant to do so, for it will certainly provoke much ill-feeling. I must not, however, be deterred by that, for it is the daily concomitant of public life, and hard words break no bones, as they say, but rather serve to thicken the skins and sharpen the tongues of us public men, so that, we are able to meet our opponents with their own weapons. I perceive before me, indeed, a liberal education in just those public qualities wherein I am conscious of being as yet deficient.” And his heart sank within him, thinking of the carts on the hills of Hampstead and the boys who drove them. “What is lacking to them,” he mused, “is the power of seeing this problem steadily and seeing it whole. Let me endeavour to impart this habit to all who have any connection with transport.”
He had just completed this reflection when, turning a corner, he came on a large van standing stockstill at the top of an incline. The driver was leaning idly against the hind wheel filling a pipe. Mr. Lavender glanced at the near horse, and seeing that he was not distressed, he thus addressed the man:
“Do you not know, my friend, that every minute is of importance in this national crisis? If I could get you to see the question of transport steadily, and to see it whole, I feel convinced that you would not be standing there lighting your pipe when perhaps this half-hour's delay in the delivery of your goods may mean the death of one of your comrades at the front.”
The man, who was wizened, weathered, and old, with but few teeth, looked up at him from above the curved hands with which he was coaxing the flame of a match into the bowl of his pipe. His brow was wrinkled, and moisture stood at the comers of his eyes.
“I assure you,” went on Mr. Lavender, “that we have none of us the right in these days to delay for a single minute the delivery of anything—not even of speeches. When I am tempted to do so, I think of our sons and brothers in the trenches, and how every shell and every word saves their lives, and I deliver——”
The old man, who had finished lighting his pipe, took a long pull at it, and said hoarsely:
“Go on!”
“I will,” said Mr. Lavender, “for I perceive that I can effect a revolution in your outlook, so that instead of wasting the country's time by leaning against that wheel you will drive on zealously and help to win the war.”
The old man looked at him, and one side of his face became drawn up in a smile, which seemed to Mr. Lavender so horrible that he said: “Why do you look at me like that?”
“Cawn't 'elp it,” said the man.
“What makes you,” continued Mr. Lavender, “pause here with your job half finished? It is not the hill which keeps you back, for you are at the top, and your horses seem rested.”
“Yes,” said the old man, with another contortion of his face, “they're rested—leastways, one of 'em.”
“Then what delays you—if not that British sluggishness which we in public life find such a terrible handicap to our efforts in conducting the war?”
“Ah!” said the old man. “But out of one you don't make two, guv'nor. Git on the offside and you'll see it a bit steadier and a bit 'oler than you 'ave 'itherto.”
Struck by his words, which were accompanied by a painful puckering of the checks, Mr. Lavender moved round the van looking for some defect in its machinery, and suddenly became aware that the off horse was lying on the ground, with the traces cut. It lay on its side, and did not move.
“Oh!” cried Mr. Lavender; “oh!” And going up to the horse's head he knelt down. The animal's eye was glazing.
“Oh!” he cried again, “poor horse! Don't die!” And tears dropped out of his eyes on to the horse's cheek. The eye seemed to give him a look, and became quite glazed.
“Dead!” said Mr Lavender in an awed whisper. “This is horrible! What a thin horse—nothing but bones!” And his gaze haunted the ridge and furrow of the horse's carcase, while the living horse looked round and down at its dead fellow, from whose hollow face a ragged forelock drooped in the dust.
“I must go and apologize to that old man,” said Mr. Lavender aloud, “for no doubt he is even more distressed than I am.”
“Not 'e, guv'nor,” said a voice, and looking beside him he saw the aged driver standing beside him; “not 'e; for of all the crool jobs I ever 'ad—drivin' that 'orse these last three months 'as been the croolest. There 'e lies and 'es aht of it; and that's where they'd all like to be. Speed, done 'im in, savin' 'is country's 'time an' 'is country's oats; that done 'im in. A good old 'orse, a willin' old 'orse, 'as broke 'is 'eart tryin' to do 'is bit on 'alf rations. There 'e lies; and I'm glad 'e does.” And with the back of his hand the old fellow removed some brown moisture which was trembling on his jaw. Mr. Lavender rose from his knees.
“Dreadful!—monstrous!” he cried; “poor horse! Who is responsible for this?”
“Why,” said the old driver, “the gents as sees it steady and sees it 'ole from one side o' the van, same as you.”
So smitten to the heart was Mr. Lavender by those words that he covered his ears with his hands and almost ran from the scene, nor did he stop till he had reached the shelter of his study, and was sitting in his arm-chair with Blink upon his feet. “I will buy a go-cart,” he thought, “Blink and I will pull our weight and save the poor horses. We can at least deliver our own milk and vegetables.”
He had not been sitting there for half-an-hour revolving the painful complexities of national life before the voice of Mrs. Petty recalled him from that sad reverie.
“Dr. Gobang to see you, sir.”
At sight of the doctor who had attended him for alcoholic poisoning Mr. Lavender experienced one or those vaguely disagreeable sensations which follow on half-realized insults.
“Good-morning, sir,” said the doctor; “thought I'd just look in and make my mind easy about you. That was a nasty attack. Do you still feel your back?”
“No,” said Mr. Lavender rather coldly, while Blink growled.
“Nor your head?”
“I have never felt my head,” replied Mr. Lavender, still more coldly.
“I seem to remember——” began the doctor.
“Doctor,” said Mr. Lavender with dignity, “surely you know that public men—do not feel—their heads—it would not do. They sometimes suffer from their throats, but otherwise they have perfect health, fortunately.”
The doctor smiled.
“Well, what do you think of the war?” he asked chattily.
“Be quiet, Blink,” said Mr. Lavender. Then, in a far-away voice, he added: “Whatever the clouds which have gathered above our heads for the moment, and whatever the blows which Fate may have in store for us, we shall not relax our efforts till we have attained our aims and hurled our enemies back. Nor shall we stop there,” he went on, warming at his own words. “It is but a weak-kneed patriotism which would be content with securing the objects for which we began to fight. We shall not hesitate to sacrifice the last of our men, the last of our money, in the sacred task of achieving the complete ruin of the fiendish Power which has brought this great calamity on the world. Even if our enemies surrender we will fight on till we have dictated terms on the doorsteps of Potsdam.”
The doctor, who, since Mr. Lavender began to speak, had been looking at him with strange intensity, dropped his eyes.
“Quite so,” he said heartily, “quite so. Well, good-morning. I only just ran in!” And leaving Mr. Lavender to the exultation he was evidently feeling, this singular visitor went out and closed the door. Outside the garden-gate he rejoined the nephew Sinkin.
“Well?” asked the latter.
“Sane as you or me,” said the doctor. “A little pedantic in his way of expressing himself, but quite all there, really.”
“Did his dog bite you?” muttered the nephew. “No,” said the doctor absently. “I wish to heaven everyone held his views. So long. I must be getting on.” And they parted.
But Mr. Lavender, after pacing the room six times, had sat down again in his chair, with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, such as other men feel on mornings after a debauch.
On pleasant afternoons Mr. Lavender would often take his seat on one of the benches which adorned the Spaniard's Road to enjoy the beams of the sun and the towers of the City confused in smoky distance. And strolling forth with Blink on the afternoon of the day on which the doctor had come to see him he sat down to read a periodical, which enjoined on everyone the necessity of taking the utmost interest in soldiers disabled by the war. “Yes,” he thought, “it is indeed our duty to force them, no matter what their disablements, to continue and surpass the heroism they displayed out there, and become superior to what they once were.” And it seemed to him a distinct dispensation of Providence when the rest of his bench was suddenly occupied by three soldiers in the blue garments and red ties of hospital life. They had been sitting there for some minutes, divided by the iron bars necessary to the morals of the neighbourhood, while Mr. Lavender cudgelled his brains for an easy and natural method of approach, before Blink supplied the necessary avenue by taking her stand before a soldier and looking up into his eye.
“Lord!” said the one thus accosted, “what a fyce! Look at her moustache! Well, cocky, 'oo are you starin' at?”
“My dog,” said Mr. Lavender, perceiving his chance, “has an eye for the strange and beautiful.
“Wow said the soldier, whose face was bandaged, she'll get it 'ere, won't she?”
Encouraged by the smiles of the soldier and his comrades, Mr. Lavender went on in the most natural voice he could assume.
“I'm sure you appreciate, my friends, the enormous importance of your own futures?”
The three soldiers, whose faces were all bandaged, looked as surprised as they could between them, and did not answer. Mr. Lavender went on, dropping unconsciously into the diction of the article he had been reading: “We are now at the turning-point of the ways, and not a moment is to be lost in impressing on the disabled man the paramount necessity of becoming again the captain of his soul. He who was a hero in the field must again lead us in those qualities of enterprise and endurance which have made him the admiration of the world.”
The three soldiers had turned what was visible of their faces towards Mr. Lavender, and, seeing that he had riveted their attention, he proceeded: “The apathy which hospital produces, together with the present scarcity of labour, is largely responsible for the dangerous position in which the disabled man now finds himself. Only we who have not to face his future can appreciate what that future is likely to be if he does not make the most strenuous efforts to overcome it. Boys,” he added earnestly, remembering suddenly that this was the word which those who had the personal touch ever employed, “are you making those efforts? Are you equipping your minds? Are you taking advantage of your enforced leisure to place yourselves upon some path of life in which you can largely hold your own against all comers?”
He paused for a reply.
The soldiers, silent for a moment, in what seemed to Mr. Lavender to be sheer astonishment, began to fidget; then the one next him turned to his neighbour, and said:
“Are we, Alf? Are we doin' what the gentleman says?”
“I can answer that for you,” returned Mr. Lavender brightly; “for I can tell by your hospitalized faces that you are living in the present; a habit which, according to our best writers, is peculiar to the British. I assure you,” he went on with a winning look, “there is no future in that. If you do not at once begin to carve fresh niches for yourselves in the temple of industrialism you will be engulfed by the returning flood, and left high and dry upon the beach of fortune.”
During these last few words the half of an irritated look on the faces of the soldiers changed to fragments of an indulgent and protective expression.
“Right you are, guv'nor,” said the one in the middle. Don't you worry, we'll see you home all right.
“It is you,” said Mr. Lavender, “that I must see home. For that is largely the duty of us who have not had the great privilege of fighting for our country.”
These words, which completed the soldiers' conviction that Mr. Lavender was not quite all there, caused them to rise.
“Come on, then,” said one; “we'll see each other home. We've got to be in by five. You don't have a string to your dog, I see.”
“Oh no!” said Mr. Lavender puzzled “I am not blind.”
“Balmy,” said the soldier soothingly. “Come on, sir, an' we can talk abaht it on the way.”
Mr. Lavender, delighted at the impression he had made, rose and walked beside them, taking insensibly the direction for home.
“What do you advise us to do, then, guv'nor?” said one of the soldiers.
“Throw away all thought of the present,” returned Mr. Lavender, with intense earnestness; “forget the past entirely, wrap yourselves wholly in the future. Do nothing which will give you immediate satisfaction. Do not consider your families, or any of those transient considerations such as pleasure, your homes, your condition of health, or your economic position; but place yourselves unreservedly in the hands of those who by hard thinking on this subject are alone in the condition to appreciate the individual circumstances of each of you. For only by becoming a flock of sheep can you be conducted into those new pastures where the grass of your future will be sweet and plentiful. Above all, continue to be the heroes which you were under the spur of your country's call, for you must remember that your country is still calling you.”
“That's right,” said the soldier on Mr. Lavender's left. “Puss, puss! Does your dog swot cats?”
At so irrelevant a remark Mr. Lavender looked suspiciously from left to right, but what there was of the soldiers' faces told him nothing.
“Which is your hospital?” he asked.
“Down the 'ill, on the right,” returned the soldier. “Which is yours?”
“Alas! it is not in a hospital that I——”
“I know,” said the soldier delicately, “don't give it a name; no need. We're all friends 'ere. Do you get out much?”
“I always take an afternoon stroll,” said Mr. Lavender, “when my public life permits. If you think your comrades would like me to come and lecture to them on their future I should be only too happy.”
“D'you 'ear, Alf?” said the soldier. “D'you think they would?”
The soldier, addressed put a finger to the sound side of his mouth and uttered a catcall.
“I might effect a radical change in their views,” continued Mr. Lavender, a little puzzled. “Let me leave you this periodical. Read it, and you will see how extremely vital all that I have been saying is. And then, perhaps, if you would send me a round robin, such as is usual in a democratic country, I could pop over almost any day after five. I sometimes feel”—and here Mr. Lavender stopped in the middle of the road, overcome by sudden emotion—“that I have really no right to be alive when I see what you have suffered for me.”
“That's all right, old bean,”, said the soldier on his left; “you'd 'a done the same for us but for your disabilities. We don't grudge it you.”
“Boys,” said Mr. Lavender, “you are men. I cannot tell you how much I admire and love you.”
“Well, give it a rest, then; t'ain't good for yer. And, look 'ere! Any time they don't treat you fair in there, tip us the wink, and we'll come over and do in your 'ousekeeper.”
Mr. Lavender smiled.
“My poor housekeeper!” he said. “I thank you all the same for your charming goodwill. This is where I live,” he added, stopping at the gate of the little house smothered in lilac and laburnum. “Can I offer you some tea?”
The three soldiers looked at each other, and Mr. Lavender, noticing their surprise, attributed it to the word tea.
“I regret exceedingly that I am a total abstainer,” he said.
The remark, completing the soldiers' judgment of his case, increased their surprise at the nature of his residence; it remained unanswered, save by a shuffling of the feet.
Mr. Lavender took off his hat.
“I consider it a great privilege,” he said, “to have been allowed to converse with you. Goodbye, and God bless you!”
So saying, he opened the gate and entered his little garden carrying his hat in his hand, and followed by Blink.
The soldiers watched him disappear within, then continued on their way down the hill in silence.
“Blimy,” said one suddenly, “some of these old civilians 'ave come it balmy on the crumpet since the war began. Give me the trenches!”
Aglow with satisfaction at what he had been able to do for the wounded soldiers, Mr. Lavender sat down in his study to drink the tea which he found there. “There is nothing in life,” he thought, “which gives one such satisfaction as friendliness and being able to do something for others. Moon-cat!”
The moon-cat, who, since Mr. Lavender had given her milk, abode in his castle, awaiting her confinement, purred loudly, regarding him with burning eyes, as was her fashion when she wanted milk, Mr. Lavender put down the saucer and continued his meditations. “Everything is vain; the world is full of ghosts and shadows; but in friendliness and the purring of a little cat there is solidity.”
“A lady has called, sir.”
Looking up, Mr. Lavender became aware of Mrs. Petty.
“How very agreeable!
“I don't know, sir,” returned his housekeeper in her decisive voice; “but she wants to see you. Name of Pullbody.”
“Pullbody,” repeated Mr. Lavender dreamily; “I don't seem——Ask her in, Mrs. Petty, ask her in.”
“It's on your head, sir,” said Mrs. Petty, and went out.
Mr. Lavender was immediately conscious of a presence in dark green silk, with a long upper lip, a loose lower lip, and a fixed and faintly raddled air, moving stealthily towards him.
“Sit down, madam, I beg. Will you have some tea?”
The lady sat down. “Thank you, I have had tea. It was on the recommendation of your next-door neighbour, Miss Isabel Scarlet——”
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Lavender, whose heart began to beat; “command me, for I am entirely at her service.”
“I have come to see you,” began the lady with a peculiar sinuous smile, “as a public man and a patriot.”
Mr. Lavender bowed, and the lady went on: “I am in very great trouble. The fact is, my sister's husband's sister is married to a German.”
“Is it possible, madam?” murmured Mr. Lavender, crossing his knees, and joining the tips of his fingers.
“Yes,” resumed the lady, “and what's more, he is still at large.”
Mr. Lavender, into whose mind there had instantly rushed a flood of public utterances, stood gazing at her haggard face in silent sympathy.
“You may imagine my distress, sir, and the condition of my conscience,” pursued the lady, “when I tell you that my sister's husband's sister is a very old friend of mine—and, indeed, so was this German. The two are a very attached young couple, and, being childless, are quite wrapped up in each other. I have come to you, feeling it my duty to secure his internment.”
Mr. Lavender, moved by the human element in her words, was about to say, “But why, madam?” when the lady continued:
“I have not myself precisely heard him speak well of his country. But the sister of a friend of mine who was having tea in their house distinctly heard him say that there were two sides to every question, and that he could not believe all that was said in the English papers.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Lavender, troubled; “that is serious.”
“Yes,” went on the lady; “and on another occasion my sister's husband himself heard him remark that a man could not help loving his country and hoping that it would win.”
“But that is natural,” began Mr. Lavender.
“What!” said the lady, nearly rising, “when that country is Germany?”
The word revived Mr. Lavender's sense of proportion.
“True,” he said, “true. I was forgetting for the moment. It is extraordinary how irresponsible one's thoughts are sometimes. Have you reason to suppose that he is dangerous?”
“I should have thought that what I have said might have convinced you,” replied the lady reproachfully; “but I don't wish you to act without satisfying yourself. It is not as if you knew him, of course. I have easily been able to get up an agitation among his friends, but I should not expect an outsider—so I thought if I gave you his address you could form your own opinion.”
“Yes,” murmured Mr. Lavender, “yes. It is in the last degree undesirable that any man of German origin should remain free to work possible harm to our country. There is no question in this of hatred or of mere rabid patriotism,” he went on, in a voice growing more and more far-away; “it is largely the A. B. C. of common prudence.”
“I ought to say,” interrupted his visitor, “that we all thought him, of course, an honourable man until this war, or we should not have been his friends. He is a dentist,” she added, “and, I suppose, may be said to be doing useful work, which makes it difficult. I suggest that you go to him to have a tooth out.”
Mr. Lavender quivered, and insensibly felt his teeth.
“Thank you,” he said, “I will see if I can find one. It is certainly a matter which cannot be left to chance. We public men, madam, often have to do very hard and even inhumane things for no apparent reason. Our consciences alone support us. An impression, I am told, sometimes gets abroad that we yield to clamour. Those alone who know us realize how unfounded that aspersion is.”
“This is his address,” said the lady, rising, and handing him an envelope. “I shall not feel at rest until he is safely interned. You will not mention my name, of course. It is tragic to be obliged to work against one's friends in the dark. Your young neighbour spoke in enthusiastic terms of your zeal, and I am sure that in choosing you for my public man she was not pulling—er—was not making a mistake.”
Mr. Lavender bowed.
“I hope not, madam, he said humbly I try to do my duty.”
The lady smiled her sinuous smile and moved towards the door, leaving on the air a faint odour of vinegar and sandalwood.
When she was gone Mr. Lavender sat down on the edge of his chair before the tea-tray and extracted his teeth while Blink, taking them for a bone, gazed at them lustrously, and the moon-cat between his feet purred from repletion. “There is reason in all things,” he thought, running his finger over what was left in his mouth, “but not in patriotism, for that would prevent us from consummating the destruction of our common enemies. It behoves us public men ever to set an extreme example. Which one can I spare, I wonder?” And he fixed upon a large rambling tooth on the left wing of his lower jaw. “It will hurt horribly, I'm afraid; and if I have an anaesthetic there will be someone else present; and not improbably I shall feel ill afterwards, and be unable to form a clear judgment. I must steel myself. Blink!”
For Blink was making tremulous advances to the teeth. “How pleasant to be a dog!” thought Mr. Lavender, “and know nothing of Germans and teeth. I shall be very unhappy till this is out; but Aurora recommended me, and I must not complain, but rather consider myself the most fortunate of public men.” And, ruffling his hair till it stood up all over his head, while his loose eyebrow worked up and down, he gazed at the moon-cat.
“Moon-cat,” he said suddenly, “we are but creatures of chance, unable to tell from one day to another what Fate has in store for us. My tooth is beginning to ache already. That is, perhaps, as it should be, for I shall not forget which one it is.” So musing he resumed his teeth; and, going to his bookcase, sought fortitude and inspiration in the records of a Parliamentary debate on enemy aliens.
It was not without considerable trepidation, however, on the following afternoon that he made his way up Welkin Street, and rang at the number on the envelope in his hand.
“Yes sir, doctor is at home,” said the maid.
Mr. Lavender's heart was about to fail him when, conjuring up the vision of Aurora, he said in a faint voice: “I wish to see him professionally.” And, while the maid departed up the stairs, he waited in the narrow hall, alternately taking his hat off and putting it on again, so great was his spiritual confusion.
“Doctor will see you at once, sir.”
Putting his hat on hastily, Mr. Lavender followed her upstairs, feeling at his tooth to make quite sure that he remembered which it was. His courage mounted as he came nearer to his fate, and he marched into the room behind the maid holding his hat on firmly with one hand and his tooth in firmly with the other. There, beside a red velvet dentist's chair, he saw a youngish man dressed in a white coat, with round eyes and a domestic face, who said in good English:
“What can I do for you, my dear sir? I fear you are in bain.”
“In great pain,” replied Mr. Lavender faintly, “in great pain.” And, indeed, he was; for the nervous crisis from which he was suffering had settled in the tooth, on which he still pressed a finger through his cheek.
“Sit down, sir, sit down,” said the young man, “and perhaps it would be better if you should remove your hat. We shall not hurd you—no, no, we shall not hurd you.”
At those words, which seemed to cast doubt on his courage, Mr. Lavender recovered all his presence of mind. He took off his hat, advanced resolutely to the chair, sat down in it, and, looking up, said:
“Do to me what you will; I shall not flinch, nor depart in any way from the behaviour of those whose duty it is to set an example to others.”
So saying, he removed his teeth, and placing them in a bowl on the little swinging table which he perceived on his left hand, he closed his eyes, put his finger in his mouth, and articulated:
“'Ith one.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the young German, “but do you wish a dooth oud?”
“'At ish my deshire,” said Mr. Lavender, keeping his finger on his tooth, and his eyes closed. “'At one.”
“I cannot give you gas without my anaesthedist.”
“I dow,” said Mr. Lavender; “be wick.”
And, feeling the little cold spy-glass begin to touch his gums, he clenched his hands and thought: “This is the moment to prove that I, too, can die for a good cause. If I am not man enough to bear for my country so small a woe I can never again look Aurora in the face.”
The voice of the young dentist dragged him rudely from the depth of his resignation.
“Excuse me, but which dooth did you say?”
Mr. Lavender again inserted his finger, and opened his eyes.
The dentist shook his head. “Imbossible,” he said; “that dooth is perfectly sound. The other two are rotten. But they do not ache?”
Mr. Lavender shook his head and repeated:
“At one.”
“You are my first client this week, sir,” said the young German calmly, “but I cannot that dooth dake out.”
At those words Mr. Lavender experienced a sensation as if his soul were creeping back up his legs; he spoke as it reached his stomach.
“Noc?” he said.
“No,” replied the young German. It is nod the dooth which causes you the bain.
Mr. Lavender, suddenly conscious that he had no pain, took his finger out.
“Sir,” he said, “I perceive that you are an honourable man. There is something sublime in your abnegation if, indeed, you have had no other client this week.
“No fear,” said the young German. “Haf I, Cicely?”
Mr. Lavender became conscious for the first time of a young woman leaning up against the wall, with a pair of tweezers in her hand.
“Take it out, Otto,” she said in a low voice, “if he wants it.”
“No no,” said Mr. Lavender sharply, resuming his teeth; “I would not for the world burden your conscience.”
“My clients are all batriots,” said the young dentist, “and my bractice is Kaput. We are in a bad way, sir,” he added, with a smile, “but we try to do the correct ting.”
Mr. Lavender saw the young woman move the tweezers in a manner which caused his blood to run a little cold.
“We must live,” he heard her say.
“Young madam,” he said, “I honour the impulse which makes you desire to extend your husband's practice. Indeed, I perceive you both to be so honourable that I cannot but make you a confession. My tooth is indeed sound, though, since I have been pretending that it isn't, it has caused me much discomfort. I came here largely to form an opinion of your husband's character, with a view to securing his internment.”
At that word the two young people shrank together till they were standing side by side, staring at Mr Lavender with eyes full of anxiety and wonder. Their hands, which still held the implements of dentistry, insensibly sought each other.
“Be under no apprehension,” cried Mr. Lavender, much moved; “I can see that you are greatly attached, and even though your husband is a German, he is still a man, and I could never bring myself to separate him from you.”
“Who are you?” said the young woman in a frightened voice, putting her arm round her husband's waist.
“Just a public man,” answered Mr. Lavender.
“I came here from a sense of duty; nothing more, assure you.”
“Who put you up to it?”
“That,” said Mr. Lavender, bowing as best he could from the angle he was in, “I am not at liberty to disclose. But, believe me, you have nothing to fear from this visit; I shall never do anything to distress a woman. And please charge me as if the tooth had been extracted.”
The young German smiled, and shook his head.
“Sir,” he said, “I am grateful to you for coming, for it shows us what danger we are in. The hardest ting to bear has been the uncertainty of our bosition, and the feeling that our friends were working behind our backs. Now we know that this is so we shall vordify our souls to bear the worst. But, tell me,” he went on, “when you came here, surely you must have subbosed that to tear me away from my wife would be very bainful to her and to myself. You say now you never could do that, how was it, then, you came?”
“Ah, sir!” cried Mr. Lavender, running his hands through his hair and staring at the ceiling, “I feared this might seem inconsistent to your logical German mind. But there are many things we public men would never do if we could see them being done. Fortunately, as a rule we cannot. Believe me, when I leave you I shall do my best to save you from a fate which I perceive to be unnecessary.”
So saying, he rose from the chair, and, picking up his hat, backed towards the door.
“I will not offer you my hand,” he said, “for I am acutely conscious that my position is neither dignified nor decent. I owe you a tooth that I shall not readily forget. Good-bye!”