The C.O. has observed that N.C.O.'s and Men are falling into the habit of washing their gas-helmets."Do you remember those noisome old flannel jelly-bags, Alan?""I do! They were abolished, as far as I can remember, about the middle of nineteen sixteen.""Yes, that's right. They were about as much use as the sick headache which they produced."Officers Commanding Companies will see that this practice is discontinued at once. Helmets so washed are entirely useless against a gas attack."Still," I commented, "if you wore them unwashed you died whether there was a gas attack on or not; so altogether, I don't blame the washers!""Hallo," continued Eric; "here's abillet-douxfrom Corps Headquarters.""What is it?"Eric grinned."Mules, Brief Notes on the Treatment of. They do manage to think of things on Olympus!..."The mule is much more dainty about what he drinks than about what he eats."I think that's true: my last consignment ate seventeen nose-bags and three pack-saddles in a single night."The mule is not really of a vicious disposition; he is only shy and nervous, and is very responsive to petting—"So am I, for that matter! But let's get on, Eric. Here's a field despatch book. It has been lying in a puddle, I fancy: these carbon duplicates have run a bit. Never mind! I don't suppose there is anything of importance inside it.""The only legible despatch is the last one," said Eric, turning over the pages. "A pretty stately epistle, too! Listen!"To O.C. 7th Battalion, the Grampian Regiment.Sir,—Reference your FZ/357, in which it is stated that the one hundred picks and shovels which this Battalion was directed to hand over to yours on the 16th inst. were handed over deficient five picks and four shovels; I am to inform you that an N.C.O. was duly sent in charge of the picks and shovels in a G.S. Waggon to Bluepoint Farm at seven a.m. on that date, and there handed over the full number of picks and shovels to an N.C.O. of your Battalion, who counted them and gave a receipt for same, a copy of which I now enclose.Your obedient servant,R. T. C. Birnie, Lieut.,For Lt.-Col. Commanding2nd Battalion, Royal Covenanters."That fairly puts it across the Grampian Regiment!" was Eric's verdict. "I congratulate you!""It was Roy who was responsible," I said. "He got me out of a nasty mess with the C.R.E. by producing that receipt. He was a grand adjutant, bless him!"Eric continued to turn over the leaves of the despatch book."There is nothing in the shape of a will or testament here," he said at last. "No; wait a minute; there's something in the pocket of the flap."He held the pocket open, and shook out its contents on to the table cloth—two faded slips of pinkish paper."These don't look very promising," he said. "Field telegraph despatches!"He unfolded the first slip, smoothed it out, and read aloud:The expression "Dud" will no longer be employed in Official Correspondence.He laughed. "There's Staff work for you!""Eric—!" I began suddenly. Some inward monitor had jerked an alarm-cord in my brain. Where had I heard that message before? And in conjunction with what? I leaned across the table and stretched out my hand; but already Eric had unfolded the second despatch, and was smoothing it out with the wrist of his artificial arm. I noticed that a covering slip was pinned to the despatch.Passed to you, read Eric—for immediate compliance, please.—J. E. F."That was old Forrester, the Brigade Major. It sounds quite urgent; I wonder what it is all about.""Eric—!" I said again. Then, suddenly, I held my peace. Who was I, to interfere with God?"Hallo," continued Eric—"here's my name!"Lieutenant-Colonel E. F. B. Bethune, D.S.O., Commanding Second Battalion Royal Covenanters—He stopped suddenly—as I knew he would. I looked up, and watched his face go white, as he read the message to the end. I saw him re-read it, again and again. Then he examined the date, and hour of despatch. Then came a long, deathly silence.At last he lifted his face to me—the face of a man suddenly aged. He pushed the pink slip in my direction."Have you ever seen that before?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.I read the message mechanically through, though I knew it by heart. It said:Lt.-Col E. F. B. Bethune, D.S.O., Commanding Second Battalion, Royal Covenanters, will return home forthwith, and report to War Office.CHAPTER XXIIITHE SOUL OF ERIC BETHUNEHow long we sat there I do not know. But at last I was conscious that Eric was speaking again."When did Roy Birnie get this?""Immediately after you had moved off with the battalion—that afternoon at Caterpillar Farm, before the Somme show. He and I stayed to clear up, you remember?""Yes, yes!" he muttered, staring at the paper. "I remember. But—but why didn't he give it to me? Didn't he realise what it meant?""Yes, he realised all right. That was why he didn't give it to you."Eric took up the despatch in his shaking hand."Roy Birnie deliberately held that back?" he said.I nodded."And you?""Don't ask me about it," I replied, lighting my pipe and feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. "It's no part of a second-in-command's duty to supervise the adjutant's correspondence.""But—didn't he show it to you?""Now you ask me, he did.""But—but—it would have put you in command of the battalion!""My dear sir," I explained gruffly, "a man can't take command of a battalion if the adjutant neglects to publish the order which appoints him." I felt horribly mean, but this seemed to me to be a case where the dead could most conveniently bear the responsibility.Suddenly Eric rose to his feet. I glanced at him, and flinched, for I knew what was coming. The colour had come back to his face, and his blue eyes were aglow. He was "up in the cloods." He came round to my side of the table, and laid his hands on my shoulders. It was strange to feel the lifeless weight of his artificial arm. I flinched again, and made a testy reference to my comminuted collar-bone.But Eric was not to be denied. He had been exposed to himself as an incompetent and a failure; but what mattered more—solely—to him was that the world did not know about it; Roy and I had saved him from that. All that was grateful in his nature had been roused by that infernal telegram. He sat down beside me and took my hand in his. I felt very ridiculous."My God, old man," he said, "you saved me! You two saved me from being broke! You, who might have commanded the battalion—and young Roy! Young Roy! After what I had done to him—and—tried to do to him!""Oh, come!" I said. "You were a bit of a martinet, sometimes—the heavy C.O., and all that—but there's no need to reproach yourself over Roy."Eric let go my hand—greatly to my relief— and began to walk about the room. Suddenly he turned to me."Alan, old man," he said, "do you know exactly what I did to Roy? I tried to take his girl away from him!"I looked up. Lord Eskerley had been right, as usual."You mean—Marjorie?""Yes—Marjorie! Not once—nor twice—not accidentally—nor casually; but deliberately and continuously! Listen!" He was in the flood-tide of confession now, and I knew that in that mood he was not apt to be reticent."I made love to her at Craigfoot—in a 'you're-a-nice-little-girl' sort of way—while Roy was at Sandhurst. I made love to her in London, when I was on leave and he was in France—took her out to dinner and lunch, and so on—""Why not? It was up to her to refuse.""She didn't refuse.""In that case, she must have found your society agreeable.""No, she didn't! I am pretty vain about myself, Alan; but I could see she didn't!""Then why did she accept your invitations?""I fancy it was because it gave her a chance to talk about the regiment—which meant Roy. Not that she ever mentioned him; but—I see it now! My God, what a cad I was! I let her sit there, while I crabbed him—talked patronisingly of him—belittled the good work he had always done for me and my battalion. Ugh!""Did you really care for her?""I was fascinated by her for the time. She is a glorious creature!""She certainly is.""But I think that in the main it was jealousy—jealousy of Roy's youth, and the fact that instead of being my son, as he might have been, he was my rival. It was a mad business altogether. Finally, I asked her to marry me.""She turned you down?" It was an unnecessary remark."Of course she turned me down! But she did it very sweetly. She was rather apologetic about it; said she was engaged already, and perhaps she ought to have made that fact a little clearer to me from the start; only she never suspected, and so on.""She didn't mention Roy's name, I suppose?""No! I half thought that she would, just to score me off. It would have been a real slap in the face for me, his Colonel, if she had. But she didn't: she just said she was very, very sorry, but that she was engaged to some one else!""Well, there was no great harm done," I said, wishing he would stop. But he had not finished yet."And then—oh Lord, Alan!—do you know what I did then? I turned round on her, like a spoiled child, and accused her of having flirted with me, and led me on! And, not content with that, I turned on the pathetic tap. I said something rotten about expecting a little more consideration from her, seeing that I was going back to the trenches to-morrow—and muck like that! And she just looked at me, and said, quite quietly: 'He is there, too—now!' As if I didn't know! Oh, what a miserable rotter I was—and am!"He dropped into a chair, and buried his face in his arms. He was "doon in the midden" now. I puffed wretchedly at my pipe and longed, from the bottom of my heart, for an air raid. I found myself wondering whether Marjorie had ever told Roy of this incident. I decided that my Eve would not have done so; and therefore probably not Marjorie.Presently Eric began to talk again, with his forehead still close to the table."And this very morning," he said bitterly—"with Roy's death hardly made public—I came to this house fooling round Roy's widow with flowers, and silly old man's messages! I believe I was actually jealous of the dead, Alan! Well, that's over now. I needn't insult her any more—or him!" He sat up again, and took the pink slip. "This has killed my conceit at last—and perhaps saved my soul. Thank God I came across it! It has brought me to myself. And thankyou, old friend"—Eric turned swiftly to me, and his face broke into the smile that I loved—"for what you did for me! You saved me from being sent home! Yes, and you provided me with a far more creditable exit from my soldiering career than I ever deserved!""That's all right," I said. "Let's clear up these papers."But Eric was not listening. He had fallen into a rare mood—gentle and frank. He talked on—more calmly now."Men are queer mixtures. And, oh Lord, how truly some women judge us! Marjorie saw through me from the start, I believe. So did Diana. Did you ever know why she broke off our engagement?"I shook my head. I had not heard Eric mention Diana's name for twenty years."Eve and I never spoke of it," I said."No, of course; you two wouldn't—being you two. Well, Diana said to me, quite suddenly, one day: 'Eric, I want to tell you that I can't marry you after all.' Just that! Of course, I asked her why.""That was probably a mistake.""It was. She asked me not to press her; but, being me, that only made me more unreasonable. So finally she told me."'Eric,' she said, 'I am very fond of you; I always shall be—more than I care to think about. But you have one fault that I can't get over: you have a mean streak in you. I would take you with every other fault in the world—but not that! So—good-bye!' They were the last words she ever spoke to me. You know, she was like that. I took my medicine with a smiling face, as you may remember; but it hurt like hell—and it taught me nothing! Well"—he tapped the telegraph form—"here is my second dose! It has got home this time. Ihavea mean streak in me, and I know it at last! Still"—he rose to his feet and held up his right hand: he could never resist the dramatic touch—"it's not too late. I am still on the right side of fifty; and I am going to spend the rest of my life eradicating that yellow streak from my system. I think I can do it. A thing's never dangerous once you know it's there." Suddenly he leaned over towards me. "Alan, old boy, I'm not ahopelessoutsider, am I? Tell me! You know me! What am I?""You are what I have always thought you," I said—"a very brave soldier, with a weakness for facing difficult situations with both eyes shut! Also, you are my oldest friend. Now, for goodness sake, let's clear up this mess, and report entire lack of progress to Eskerley!"The telephone bell rang sharply.CHAPTER XXIVTHROUGHThe double doors at the end of the room swung back, and Lord Eskerley appeared. The bell was still ringing. A tiny hinged metal flap on the switchboard had fallen open, revealing a white disc with a number on it. His Lordship gazed absently down upon the apparatus."The inestimable Meadows is still taking the air," he said, "so I must tackle this contraption myself. Let me think; what is the combination?"He peered at the vibrating flap and the revealed number."Three!" he announced. "Aha! I haven't the faintest notion what that implies. Let us stop this noise, anyhow."He pushed up the flap again, and the bell stopped ringing."Shall we retire?" I asked."No, no, no! If it's desperately confidential I will switch it through to the instrument in my room; but I don't expect"—he put the receiver to his ear—"Who wants me? What wants me? ... Caperton? Never heard of him! Oh, an exchange? A locality? A trunk call? Very well!Rien ne m'étonne! Carry on!"Lord Eskerley's back was turned to us. Suddenly I saw his shoulders stiffen; he caught his breath sharply. As this was the first sign of emotion that he had betrayed, to my knowledge, for the last thirty years, I watched him with quickening interest."Yes!" he said ... "Yes, yes! This is Lord Eskerley ... Louder, please!" Then came a pause, while the receiver squeaked steadily. Then, a little unexpectedly: "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!"Eric was watching too, now. The old man steadied himself, grasping the end of the mantelpiece with his disengaged hand. Then he looked round over his shoulder at us, peering over his spectacles."A most interesting communication coming through here!" he announced. "Forgive my demeanour!" His voice was as harsh as ever, but there were tears in his old eyes. He turned to the instrument again."Yes," he said, "I concur. Such a rumour would bemostprejudicial to your future career. Shall we contradict it? You are quite sure it's incorrect?" ... He chuckled; so did the receiver. Then he continued:"Eh? ... Oh! Naturally! You would like to do that at once? ... Yes, I think I can put you in communication with the party in question.... When? Oh, within a fairly reasonable interval of time, I hope. Let us say next week—" He moved the receiver a few inches away from his ear. "I can hear you quite easily in your ordinary voice, thanks!"He chuckled again, laid down the receiver, and brooded once more over the switchboard. Then, after a brief mental calculation, he selected a plug at the end of a wire, thrust it into a hole, and pressed a small ivory button.A bell rang faintly upstairs, then ceased sharply. Our noble operator took up the receiver again."That you, Habakkuk?" he inquired.... "Good! Some mysterious individual in Kent wishes to speak to you on the telephone. Wonderful invention!"The old gentleman made a final adjustment of the switches on the board, and spoke for the last time—apparently to the person in Kent:"You still there?"The telephone vibrated stormily."All right! You are through to her—dear boy!"He hung up the receiver, and left them together.THE ENDThe Riverside PressCAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTSU.S.A.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE WILLING HORSE***
The C.O. has observed that N.C.O.'s and Men are falling into the habit of washing their gas-helmets.
"Do you remember those noisome old flannel jelly-bags, Alan?"
"I do! They were abolished, as far as I can remember, about the middle of nineteen sixteen."
"Yes, that's right. They were about as much use as the sick headache which they produced."
Officers Commanding Companies will see that this practice is discontinued at once. Helmets so washed are entirely useless against a gas attack.
"Still," I commented, "if you wore them unwashed you died whether there was a gas attack on or not; so altogether, I don't blame the washers!"
"Hallo," continued Eric; "here's abillet-douxfrom Corps Headquarters."
"What is it?"
Eric grinned.
"Mules, Brief Notes on the Treatment of. They do manage to think of things on Olympus!..."
The mule is much more dainty about what he drinks than about what he eats.
"I think that's true: my last consignment ate seventeen nose-bags and three pack-saddles in a single night."
The mule is not really of a vicious disposition; he is only shy and nervous, and is very responsive to petting—
"So am I, for that matter! But let's get on, Eric. Here's a field despatch book. It has been lying in a puddle, I fancy: these carbon duplicates have run a bit. Never mind! I don't suppose there is anything of importance inside it."
"The only legible despatch is the last one," said Eric, turning over the pages. "A pretty stately epistle, too! Listen!"
To O.C. 7th Battalion, the Grampian Regiment.
Sir,—Reference your FZ/357, in which it is stated that the one hundred picks and shovels which this Battalion was directed to hand over to yours on the 16th inst. were handed over deficient five picks and four shovels; I am to inform you that an N.C.O. was duly sent in charge of the picks and shovels in a G.S. Waggon to Bluepoint Farm at seven a.m. on that date, and there handed over the full number of picks and shovels to an N.C.O. of your Battalion, who counted them and gave a receipt for same, a copy of which I now enclose.
Your obedient servant,R. T. C. Birnie, Lieut.,For Lt.-Col. Commanding2nd Battalion, Royal Covenanters.
"That fairly puts it across the Grampian Regiment!" was Eric's verdict. "I congratulate you!"
"It was Roy who was responsible," I said. "He got me out of a nasty mess with the C.R.E. by producing that receipt. He was a grand adjutant, bless him!"
Eric continued to turn over the leaves of the despatch book.
"There is nothing in the shape of a will or testament here," he said at last. "No; wait a minute; there's something in the pocket of the flap."
He held the pocket open, and shook out its contents on to the table cloth—two faded slips of pinkish paper.
"These don't look very promising," he said. "Field telegraph despatches!"
He unfolded the first slip, smoothed it out, and read aloud:
The expression "Dud" will no longer be employed in Official Correspondence.
He laughed. "There's Staff work for you!"
"Eric—!" I began suddenly. Some inward monitor had jerked an alarm-cord in my brain. Where had I heard that message before? And in conjunction with what? I leaned across the table and stretched out my hand; but already Eric had unfolded the second despatch, and was smoothing it out with the wrist of his artificial arm. I noticed that a covering slip was pinned to the despatch.
Passed to you, read Eric—for immediate compliance, please.—J. E. F.
"That was old Forrester, the Brigade Major. It sounds quite urgent; I wonder what it is all about."
"Eric—!" I said again. Then, suddenly, I held my peace. Who was I, to interfere with God?
"Hallo," continued Eric—"here's my name!"
Lieutenant-Colonel E. F. B. Bethune, D.S.O., Commanding Second Battalion Royal Covenanters—
He stopped suddenly—as I knew he would. I looked up, and watched his face go white, as he read the message to the end. I saw him re-read it, again and again. Then he examined the date, and hour of despatch. Then came a long, deathly silence.
At last he lifted his face to me—the face of a man suddenly aged. He pushed the pink slip in my direction.
"Have you ever seen that before?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.
I read the message mechanically through, though I knew it by heart. It said:
Lt.-Col E. F. B. Bethune, D.S.O., Commanding Second Battalion, Royal Covenanters, will return home forthwith, and report to War Office.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SOUL OF ERIC BETHUNE
How long we sat there I do not know. But at last I was conscious that Eric was speaking again.
"When did Roy Birnie get this?"
"Immediately after you had moved off with the battalion—that afternoon at Caterpillar Farm, before the Somme show. He and I stayed to clear up, you remember?"
"Yes, yes!" he muttered, staring at the paper. "I remember. But—but why didn't he give it to me? Didn't he realise what it meant?"
"Yes, he realised all right. That was why he didn't give it to you."
Eric took up the despatch in his shaking hand.
"Roy Birnie deliberately held that back?" he said.
I nodded.
"And you?"
"Don't ask me about it," I replied, lighting my pipe and feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. "It's no part of a second-in-command's duty to supervise the adjutant's correspondence."
"But—didn't he show it to you?"
"Now you ask me, he did."
"But—but—it would have put you in command of the battalion!"
"My dear sir," I explained gruffly, "a man can't take command of a battalion if the adjutant neglects to publish the order which appoints him." I felt horribly mean, but this seemed to me to be a case where the dead could most conveniently bear the responsibility.
Suddenly Eric rose to his feet. I glanced at him, and flinched, for I knew what was coming. The colour had come back to his face, and his blue eyes were aglow. He was "up in the cloods." He came round to my side of the table, and laid his hands on my shoulders. It was strange to feel the lifeless weight of his artificial arm. I flinched again, and made a testy reference to my comminuted collar-bone.
But Eric was not to be denied. He had been exposed to himself as an incompetent and a failure; but what mattered more—solely—to him was that the world did not know about it; Roy and I had saved him from that. All that was grateful in his nature had been roused by that infernal telegram. He sat down beside me and took my hand in his. I felt very ridiculous.
"My God, old man," he said, "you saved me! You two saved me from being broke! You, who might have commanded the battalion—and young Roy! Young Roy! After what I had done to him—and—tried to do to him!"
"Oh, come!" I said. "You were a bit of a martinet, sometimes—the heavy C.O., and all that—but there's no need to reproach yourself over Roy."
Eric let go my hand—greatly to my relief— and began to walk about the room. Suddenly he turned to me.
"Alan, old man," he said, "do you know exactly what I did to Roy? I tried to take his girl away from him!"
I looked up. Lord Eskerley had been right, as usual.
"You mean—Marjorie?"
"Yes—Marjorie! Not once—nor twice—not accidentally—nor casually; but deliberately and continuously! Listen!" He was in the flood-tide of confession now, and I knew that in that mood he was not apt to be reticent.
"I made love to her at Craigfoot—in a 'you're-a-nice-little-girl' sort of way—while Roy was at Sandhurst. I made love to her in London, when I was on leave and he was in France—took her out to dinner and lunch, and so on—"
"Why not? It was up to her to refuse."
"She didn't refuse."
"In that case, she must have found your society agreeable."
"No, she didn't! I am pretty vain about myself, Alan; but I could see she didn't!"
"Then why did she accept your invitations?"
"I fancy it was because it gave her a chance to talk about the regiment—which meant Roy. Not that she ever mentioned him; but—I see it now! My God, what a cad I was! I let her sit there, while I crabbed him—talked patronisingly of him—belittled the good work he had always done for me and my battalion. Ugh!"
"Did you really care for her?"
"I was fascinated by her for the time. She is a glorious creature!"
"She certainly is."
"But I think that in the main it was jealousy—jealousy of Roy's youth, and the fact that instead of being my son, as he might have been, he was my rival. It was a mad business altogether. Finally, I asked her to marry me."
"She turned you down?" It was an unnecessary remark.
"Of course she turned me down! But she did it very sweetly. She was rather apologetic about it; said she was engaged already, and perhaps she ought to have made that fact a little clearer to me from the start; only she never suspected, and so on."
"She didn't mention Roy's name, I suppose?"
"No! I half thought that she would, just to score me off. It would have been a real slap in the face for me, his Colonel, if she had. But she didn't: she just said she was very, very sorry, but that she was engaged to some one else!"
"Well, there was no great harm done," I said, wishing he would stop. But he had not finished yet.
"And then—oh Lord, Alan!—do you know what I did then? I turned round on her, like a spoiled child, and accused her of having flirted with me, and led me on! And, not content with that, I turned on the pathetic tap. I said something rotten about expecting a little more consideration from her, seeing that I was going back to the trenches to-morrow—and muck like that! And she just looked at me, and said, quite quietly: 'He is there, too—now!' As if I didn't know! Oh, what a miserable rotter I was—and am!"
He dropped into a chair, and buried his face in his arms. He was "doon in the midden" now. I puffed wretchedly at my pipe and longed, from the bottom of my heart, for an air raid. I found myself wondering whether Marjorie had ever told Roy of this incident. I decided that my Eve would not have done so; and therefore probably not Marjorie.
Presently Eric began to talk again, with his forehead still close to the table.
"And this very morning," he said bitterly—"with Roy's death hardly made public—I came to this house fooling round Roy's widow with flowers, and silly old man's messages! I believe I was actually jealous of the dead, Alan! Well, that's over now. I needn't insult her any more—or him!" He sat up again, and took the pink slip. "This has killed my conceit at last—and perhaps saved my soul. Thank God I came across it! It has brought me to myself. And thankyou, old friend"—Eric turned swiftly to me, and his face broke into the smile that I loved—"for what you did for me! You saved me from being sent home! Yes, and you provided me with a far more creditable exit from my soldiering career than I ever deserved!"
"That's all right," I said. "Let's clear up these papers."
But Eric was not listening. He had fallen into a rare mood—gentle and frank. He talked on—more calmly now.
"Men are queer mixtures. And, oh Lord, how truly some women judge us! Marjorie saw through me from the start, I believe. So did Diana. Did you ever know why she broke off our engagement?"
I shook my head. I had not heard Eric mention Diana's name for twenty years.
"Eve and I never spoke of it," I said.
"No, of course; you two wouldn't—being you two. Well, Diana said to me, quite suddenly, one day: 'Eric, I want to tell you that I can't marry you after all.' Just that! Of course, I asked her why."
"That was probably a mistake."
"It was. She asked me not to press her; but, being me, that only made me more unreasonable. So finally she told me.
"'Eric,' she said, 'I am very fond of you; I always shall be—more than I care to think about. But you have one fault that I can't get over: you have a mean streak in you. I would take you with every other fault in the world—but not that! So—good-bye!' They were the last words she ever spoke to me. You know, she was like that. I took my medicine with a smiling face, as you may remember; but it hurt like hell—and it taught me nothing! Well"—he tapped the telegraph form—"here is my second dose! It has got home this time. Ihavea mean streak in me, and I know it at last! Still"—he rose to his feet and held up his right hand: he could never resist the dramatic touch—"it's not too late. I am still on the right side of fifty; and I am going to spend the rest of my life eradicating that yellow streak from my system. I think I can do it. A thing's never dangerous once you know it's there." Suddenly he leaned over towards me. "Alan, old boy, I'm not ahopelessoutsider, am I? Tell me! You know me! What am I?"
"You are what I have always thought you," I said—"a very brave soldier, with a weakness for facing difficult situations with both eyes shut! Also, you are my oldest friend. Now, for goodness sake, let's clear up this mess, and report entire lack of progress to Eskerley!"
The telephone bell rang sharply.
CHAPTER XXIV
THROUGH
The double doors at the end of the room swung back, and Lord Eskerley appeared. The bell was still ringing. A tiny hinged metal flap on the switchboard had fallen open, revealing a white disc with a number on it. His Lordship gazed absently down upon the apparatus.
"The inestimable Meadows is still taking the air," he said, "so I must tackle this contraption myself. Let me think; what is the combination?"
He peered at the vibrating flap and the revealed number.
"Three!" he announced. "Aha! I haven't the faintest notion what that implies. Let us stop this noise, anyhow."
He pushed up the flap again, and the bell stopped ringing.
"Shall we retire?" I asked.
"No, no, no! If it's desperately confidential I will switch it through to the instrument in my room; but I don't expect"—he put the receiver to his ear—"Who wants me? What wants me? ... Caperton? Never heard of him! Oh, an exchange? A locality? A trunk call? Very well!Rien ne m'étonne! Carry on!"
Lord Eskerley's back was turned to us. Suddenly I saw his shoulders stiffen; he caught his breath sharply. As this was the first sign of emotion that he had betrayed, to my knowledge, for the last thirty years, I watched him with quickening interest.
"Yes!" he said ... "Yes, yes! This is Lord Eskerley ... Louder, please!" Then came a pause, while the receiver squeaked steadily. Then, a little unexpectedly: "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!"
Eric was watching too, now. The old man steadied himself, grasping the end of the mantelpiece with his disengaged hand. Then he looked round over his shoulder at us, peering over his spectacles.
"A most interesting communication coming through here!" he announced. "Forgive my demeanour!" His voice was as harsh as ever, but there were tears in his old eyes. He turned to the instrument again.
"Yes," he said, "I concur. Such a rumour would bemostprejudicial to your future career. Shall we contradict it? You are quite sure it's incorrect?" ... He chuckled; so did the receiver. Then he continued:
"Eh? ... Oh! Naturally! You would like to do that at once? ... Yes, I think I can put you in communication with the party in question.... When? Oh, within a fairly reasonable interval of time, I hope. Let us say next week—" He moved the receiver a few inches away from his ear. "I can hear you quite easily in your ordinary voice, thanks!"
He chuckled again, laid down the receiver, and brooded once more over the switchboard. Then, after a brief mental calculation, he selected a plug at the end of a wire, thrust it into a hole, and pressed a small ivory button.
A bell rang faintly upstairs, then ceased sharply. Our noble operator took up the receiver again.
"That you, Habakkuk?" he inquired.... "Good! Some mysterious individual in Kent wishes to speak to you on the telephone. Wonderful invention!"
The old gentleman made a final adjustment of the switches on the board, and spoke for the last time—apparently to the person in Kent:
"You still there?"
The telephone vibrated stormily.
"All right! You are through to her—dear boy!"
He hung up the receiver, and left them together.
THE END
The Riverside PressCAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTSU.S.A.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE WILLING HORSE***