sniffing round Mr. Lavender, and Blink, wounded in her proprietary
instincts, placed her paws at once on her master's shoulders, so that he
fell prone. When he recovered a sitting posture neither the old lady nor
the little dog were in sight, but his hat was hanging on a laurel bush.
“There seems to be something fateful about this morning,” he mused;
“I had better go in before the rest of the female population——” and
recovering his feet with difficulty, he took his hat, and was about to
enter the house when he saw the young lady watching him from an upper
window of the adjoining castle. Thinking to relieve her anxiety, he said
at once:
“My dear young lady, I earnestly beg you to believe that such a thing
never happens to me, as a rule.”
Her face was instantly withdrawn, and, sighing deeply, Mr. Lavender
entered the house and made his way upstairs. “Ah!” he thought, painfully
recumbent in his bed once more, “though my bones ache and my head burns
I have performed an action not unworthy of the traditions of public
life. There is nothing more uplifting than to serve Youth and Beauty at
the peril of one's existence. Humanity and Chivalry have ever been the
leading characteristics of the British race;” and, really half-delirious
now, he cried aloud: “This incident will for ever inspire those who have
any sense of beauty to the fulfilment of our common task. Believe me, we
shall never sheathe the sword until the cause of humanity and chivalry
is safe once more.”
Blink, ever uneasy about sounds which seemed to her to have no meaning,
stood up on her hind legs and endeavoured to stay them by licking his
face; and Mr. Lavender, who had become so stiff that he could not stir
without great pain, had to content himself by moving his head feebly
from side to side until his dog, having taken her fill, resumed the
examination of her bone. Perceiving presently that whenever he began
to-talk she began to lick his face, he remained silent, with his mouth
open and his eyes shut, in an almost unconscious condition, from which
he was roused by a voice saying:
“He is suffering from alcoholic poisoning.”
The monstrous injustice of these words restored his faculties,
and seeing before him what he took to be a large concourse of
people—composed in reality of Joe Petty, Mrs. Petty, and the doctor—he
thus addressed them in a faint, feverish voice:
“The pressure of these times, ladies and gentlemen, brings to the
fore the most pushing and obstreperous blackguards. We have amongst us
persons who, under the thin disguise of patriotism, do not scruple
to bring hideous charges against public men. Such but serve the
blood-stained cause of our common enemies. Conscious of the purity of
our private lives, we do not care what is said of us so long as we can
fulfil our duty to our country. Abstinence from every form of spirituous
liquor has been the watchword of all public men since this land was
first threatened by the most stupendous cataclysm which ever hung over
the heads of a great democracy. We have never ceased to preach the need
for it, and those who say the contrary are largely Germans or persons
lost to a sense of decency.” So saying, he threw off all the bedclothes,
and fell back with a groan.
“Easy, easy, my dear sir!” said the voice.
“Have you a pain in your back?”
“I shall not submit,” returned our hero, “to the ministrations of a Hun;
sooner will I breathe my last.”
“Turn him over,” said the voice. And Mr. Lavender found himself on his
face.
“Do you feel that?” said the voice.
Mr. Lavender answered faintly into his pillow:
“It is useless for you to torture me. No German hand shall wring from me
a groan.”
“Is there mania in his family?” asked the voice. At this cruel insult
Mr. Lavender, who was nearly smothered, made a great effort, and
clearing his mouth of the pillow, said:
“Since we have no God nowadays, I call the God of my fathers to witness
that there is no saner public man than I.”
It was, however, his last effort, for the wriggle he had given to
his spine brought on a kind of vertigo, and he relapsed into
unconsciousness.
V IS CONVICTED OF A NEW DISEASE
Those who were assembled round the bed of Mr. Lavender remained for
a moment staring at him with their mouths open, while Blink growled
faintly from underneath.
“Put your hand here,” said the doctor at last.
“There is a considerable swelling, an appearance of inflammation, and
the legs are a curious colour. You gave him three-quarters of a tumbler
of rum—how much honey?”
Thus addressed, Joe Petty, leaning his head a little to one side,
answered:
“Not 'alf a pot, sir.”
“Um! There are all the signs here of something quite new. He's not had a
fall, has he?”
“Has he?” said Mrs. Petty severely to her husband.
“No,” replied Joe.
“Singular!” said the doctor. Turn him back again; I want to feel his
head. Swollen; it may account for his curious way of talking. Well,
shove in quinine, and keep him quiet, with hot bottles to his feet. I
think we have come on a new war disease. I'll send you the quinine. Good
morning.
“Wot oh!” said Joe to his wife, when they were left alone with the
unconscious body of their master. “Poor old Guv! Watch and pray!”
“However could you have given him such a thing?”
“Wet outside, wet your inside,” muttered Joe sulkily, “'as always been
my motto. Sorry I give 'im the honey. Who'd ha' thought the product of
an 'armless insect could 'a done 'im in like this?”
Fiddle said Mrs. Petty. “In my belief it's come on through reading those
newspapers. If I had my way I'd bum the lot. Can I trust you to watch
him while I go and get the bottles filled?”
Joe drooped his lids over his greenish eyes, and, with a whisk of her
head, his wife left the room.
“Gawd 'elp us!” thought Joe, gazing at his unconscious master, and
fingering his pipe; “'ow funny women are! If I was to smoke in 'ere
she'd have a fit. I'll just 'ave a whiff in the window, though!” And,
leaning out, he drew the curtains to behind him and lighted his pipe.
The sound of Blink gnawing her bone beneath the bed alone broke the
silence.
“I could do with a pint o' bitter,” thought Joe; and, noticing the form
of the weekly gardener down below, he said softly:
“'Ello, Bob!”
“'Ello?” replied the gardener. “'Ow's yours?”
“Nicely.”
“Goin' to 'ave some rain?”
“Ah!”
“What's the matter with that?”
“Good for the crops.”
“Missis well?”
“So, so.”
“Wish mine was.”
“Wot's the matter with her?”
“Busy!” replied Joe, sinking his voice. Never 'ave a woman permanent;
that's my experience.
The gardener did not reply, but stood staring at the lilac-bush below
Joe Petty's face. He was a thin man, rather like an old horse.
“Do you think we can win this war?” resumed Joe.
“Dunno,” replied the gardener apathetically.
“We seem to be goin' back nicely all the time.”
Joe wagged his head. “You've 'it it,” he said. And, jerking his head
back towards the room behind him, “Guv'nor's got it now.”
“What?”
“The new disease.”
“What new disease?”
“Wy, the Run-abaht-an-tell-'em-'ow-to-do-it.”
“Ah!”
“'E's copped it fair. In bed.”
“You don't say!”
“Not 'alf!” Joe sank his voice still lower. “Wot'll you bet me I don't
ketch it soon?”
The gardener uttered a low gurgle.
“The cats 'ave been in that laylock,” he replied, twisting off a broken
branch. “I'll knock off now for a bit o' lunch.”
But at that moment the sound of a voice speaking as it might be from a
cavern, caused him and Joe Petty to stare at each other as if petrified.
“Wot is it?” whispered Joe at last.
The gardener jerked his head towards a window on the ground floor.
“Someone in pain,” he said.
“Sounds like the Guv'nor's voice.”
“Ah!” said the gardener.
“Alf a mo'!” And, drawing in his head, Joe peered through the curtains.
The bed was empty and the door open.
“Watch it! 'E's loose!” he called to the gardener, and descended the
stairs at a run.
In fact, Mr. Lavender had come out of his coma at the words, “D'you
think we can win this war?” And, at once conscious that he had not read
the morning papers, had got out of bed. Sallying forth just as he was
he had made his way downstairs, followed by Blink. Seeing the journals
lying on the chest in the hall, he took all five to where he usually
went at this time of the morning, and sat down to read. Once there, the
pain he was in, added to the disorder occasioned in his brain by the
five leaders, caused him to give forth a summary of their contents,
while Blink pressed his knees with her chin whenever the rising of his
voice betokened too great absorption, as was her wont when she
wanted him to feed her. Joe Petty joined the gardener in considerable
embarrassment.
“Shan't I not 'alf cop it from the Missis?” he murmured. “The door's
locked.”
The voice of Mr. Lavender maintained its steady flow, rising and falling
with the tides of his pain and his feelings. “What, then, is our duty?
Is it not plain and simple? We require every man in the Army, for that
is the 'sine qua non' of victory. We must greatly reinforce the ranks
of labour in our shipyards—ships, ships, ships, always more ships; for
without them we shall infallibly be defeated. We cannot too often repeat
that we must see the great drama that is being played before our eyes
steadily, and we must see it whole.... Not a man must be taken from the
cultivation of our soil, for on that depends our very existence as a
nation. Without abundant labour of the right sort on the land we cannot
hope to cope with the menace of the pirate submarine. We must have
the long vision, and not be scuppered by the fears of those who would
deplete our most vital industry.... In munition works,” wailed Mr.
Lavender's voice, as he reached the fourth leader, “we still require the
maximum of effort, and a considerable reinforcement of manpower will in
that direction be necessary to enable us to establish the overwhelming
superiority in the air and in guns which alone can ensure the defeat
of our enemies....” He reached the fifth in what was almost a scream.
“Every man up to sixty must be mobilized but here we would utter the
most emphatic caveat. In the end this war will be won by the country
whose financial position stands the strain best. The last copper bullet
will be the deciding factor. Our economic strength must on no account be
diminished. We cannot at this time of day afford to deplete the ranks
of trade and let out the very life-blood in our veins.” “We must see,”
groaned Mr. Lavender, “the problem steadily, and see it whole.”
“Poor old geyser!” said the gardener; “'e do seem bad.”
“Old me!” said Joe.
“I'll get on the sill and see what I can do through the top o' the
window.”
He got up, and, held by the gardener, put his arm through. There was the
sound of considerable disturbance, and through the barking of Blink,
Mr. Lavender's voice was heard again: “Stanch in the middle of the
cataclysm, unruffled by the waters of heaven and hell, let us be
captains of our souls. Down, Blink, down!”
“He's out!” said Joe, rejoining the gardener. “Now for it, before my
missis comes!” and he ran into the house.
Mr. Lavender was walking dazedly in the hall with the journals held out
before him.
“Joe,” he said, catching sight of his servant, “get the car ready. I
must be in five places at once, for only thus can we defeat the greatest
danger which ever threatened the future of civilization.”
“Right-o, sir,” replied Joe; and, waiting till his master turned round,
he seized him round the legs, and lifting that thin little body ascended
the stairs, while Mr. Lavender, with the journals waving fanlike in his
hands, his white hair on end, and his legs kicking, endeavoured to turn
his head to see what agency was moving him.
At the top of the stairs they came on Mrs. Petty, who, having Scotch
blood in her veins, stood against the wall to let them pass, with a hot
bottle in either hand. Having placed Mr. Lavender in his bed and drawn
the clothes up to his eyes, Joe Petty passed the back of his hand across
his brow, and wrung it out.
“Phew!” he gasped; “he's artful!”
His wife, who had followed them in, was already fastening her eyes on
the carpet.
“What's that?” she said, sniffing.
“That?” repeated Joe, picking up his pipe; “why, I had to run to ketch
'im, and it fell out o' me pocket.”
“And lighted itself,” said Mrs. Petty, darting, at the floor and taking
up a glowing quid which had burned a little round hole in the carpet.
“You're a pretty one!”
“You can't foresee those sort o' things,” said Joe.
“You can't foresee anything,” replied his wife; “you might be a
Government. Here! hold the clothes while I get the bottles to his
feet. Well I never! If he hasn't got——” And from various parts of Mr.
Lavender's body she recovered the five journals. “For putting things in
the wrong place, Joe Petty, I've never seen your like!”
“They'll keep 'im warm,” said Joe.
Mr. Lavender who, on finding himself in bed, had once more fallen into a
comatose condition, stirred, and some words fell from his lips. “Five in
one, and one in five.”
“What does he say?” said Mrs. Petty, tucking him up.
“It's the odds against Candelabra for the Derby.”
“Only faith,” cried Mr. Lavender, “can multiply exceedingly.”
“Here, take them away!” muttered Mrs. Petty, and dealing the journals a
smart slap, she handed them to Joe.
“Faith!” repeated Mr. Lavender, and fell into a doze.
“About this new disease,” said Joe. “D'you think it's ketchin'? I feel
rather funny meself.”
“Stuff!” returned his wife. “Clear away those papers and that bone, and
go and take Blink out, and sit on a seat; it's all you're fit for. Of
all the happy-go-luckys you're the worst.”
“Well, I never could worry,” said Joe from the doorway; “'tisn't in me.
So long!”
And, dragging Blink by the collar, he withdrew.
Alone with her patient, Mrs. Petty, an enthusiast for cleanliness and
fresh air, went on her knees, and, having plucked out the charred ring
of the little hole in the carpet, opened the window wider to rid the
room of the smell of burning. “If it wasn't for me,” she thought,
leaning out into the air, “I don't know what'd become of them.”
A voice from a few feet away said:
“I hope he's none the worse. What does the doctor say?”
Looking round in astonishment, Mrs. Petty saw a young lady leaning out
of a window on her right.
“We can't tell at present,” she said, with a certain reserve he is going
on satisfactory.
“It's not hydrophobia, is it?” asked the young lady. “You know he fell
out of the window?
“What!” ejaculated Mrs. Petty.
“Where the lilac's broken. If I can give you a hand I shall be very
glad. I'm a V.A.D.”
“Thank you, I'm sure,” said Mrs. Petty stiffly, for the passion of
jealousy, to which she was somewhat prone, was rising in her, “there is
no call.” And she thought, “V.A. indeed! I know them.”
Poor dear said the young lady. “He did come a bump. It was awfully
funny! Is he—er——?” And she touched her forehead, where tendrils of fair
hair were blowing in the breeze.
Inexpressibly outraged by such a question concerning one for whom she
had a proprietary reverence, Mrs. Petty answered acidly:
“Oh dear no! He is much wiser than some people!”
“It was only that he mentioned the last man and the last dollar, you
know,” said the young lady, as if to herself, “but, of course, that's no
real sign.” And she uttered a sudden silvery laugh.
Mrs. Petty became aware of something tickling her left ear, and turning
round, found her master leaning out beside her, in his dressing-gown.
“Leave me, Mrs. Petty,” he said with such dignity that she instinctively
recoiled. “It may seem to you,” continued Mr. Lavender, addressing the
young lady, “indelicate on my part to resume my justification, but as
a public man, I suffer, knowing that I have committed a breach of
decorum.”
“Don't you think you ought to keep quiet in bed?” Mrs. Petty heard the
young lady ask.
“My dear young lady,” Mr. Lavender replied, “the thought of bed is
abhorrent to me at a time like this. What more ignoble fate than to die
in, one's bed?”
“I'm only asking you to live in it,” said the young lady, while Mrs.
Petty grasped her master by the skirts of his gown.
“Down, Blink, down!” said Mr. Lavender, leaning still further out.
“For pity's sake,” wailed the young lady, “don't fall out again, or I
shall burst.”
“Ah, believe me,” said Mr. Lavender in a receding voice, “I would not
pain you further for the world——”
Mrs. Petty, exerting all her strength, had hauled him in.
“Aren't you ashamed of yourself, sir,” she said severely, “talking to a
young lady like that in your dressing-gown?
“Mrs. Petty,” said Mr Lavender mysteriously, “it might have been
worse.... I should like some tea with a little lemon in it.”
Taking this for a sign of returning reason Mrs. Petty drew him gently
towards the bed, and, having seen him get in, tucked him up and said:
“Now, sir, you never break your word, do you?”
“No public man——” began Mr. Lavender.
“Oh, bother! Now, promise me to stay quiet in bed while I get you that
tea.”
“I certainly shall,” replied our hero, “for I feel rather faint.”
“That's right,” said Mrs. Petty. “I trust you.” And, bolting the window,
she whisked out of the room and locked the door behind her.
Mr. Lavender lay with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, clucking his
parched tongue. “God,” he thought, “for one must use that word when the
country is in danger—God be thanked for Beauty! But I must not allow it
to unsteel my soul. Only when the cause of humanity has triumphed, and
with the avenging sword and shell we have exterminated that criminal
nation, only then shall I be entitled to let its gentle influence creep
about my being.” And drinking off the tumbler of tea which Mrs. Petty
was holding to his lips, he sank almost immediately into a deep slumber.
VI MAKES A MISTAKE, AND MEETS A MOON-CAT
The old lady, whose name was Sinkin, and whose interest in Mr. Lavender
had become so deep, lived in a castle in Frognal; and with her lived her
young nephew, a boy of forty-five, indissolubly connected with the
Board of Guardians. It was entirely due to her representations that he
presented himself at Mr. Lavender's on the following day, and, sending
in his card, was admitted to our hero's presence.
Mr. Lavender, pale and stiff, was sitting in his study, with Blink on
his feet, reading a speech.
“Excuse my getting up, sir,” he said; “and pray be seated.”
The nephew, who had a sleepy, hairless face and little Chinese
eyes, bowed, and sitting down, stared at Mr. Lavender with a certain
embarrassment.
“I have come,” he said at last, “to ask you a few questions on behalf
of—”
“By all means,” said Mr. Lavender, perceiving at once that he was being
interviewed. “I shall be most happy to give you my views. Please take a
cigarette, for I believe that is usual. I myself do not smoke. If it is
the human touch you want, you may like to know that I gave it up when
that appeal in your contemporary flooded the trenches with cigarettes
and undermined the nerves of our heroes. By setting an example of
abstinence, and at the same time releasing more tobacco for our men, I
felt that I was but doing my duty. Please don't mention that, though.
And while we are on the personal note, which I sincerely deprecate,
you might like to stroll round the room and look at the portrait of my
father, behind the door, and of my mother, over the fireplace. Forgive
my not accompanying you. The fact is—this is an interesting touch—I have
always been rather subject to lumbago.” And seeing the nephew Sinkin,
who had risen to his suggestion, standing somewhat irresolutely in front
of him, he added: “Perhaps you would like to look a little more closely
at my eyes. Every now and then they flash with an almost uncanny
insight.” For by now he had quite forgotten his modesty in the
identification he felt with the journal which was interviewing him. “I
am fifty-eight,” he added quickly; “but I do not look my years, though
my hair, still thick and full of vigour, is prematurely white—so often
the case with men whose brains are continually on the stretch. The
little home, far from grandiose, which forms the background to this most
interesting personality is embowered in trees. Cats have made their mark
on its lawns, and its owner's love of animals was sharply illustrated
by the sheep-dog which lay on his feet clad in Turkish slippers. Get up,
Blink!”
Blink, disturbed by the motion of her master's feet, rose and gazed long
into his face.
“Look!” said Mr. Lavender, “she has the most beautiful eyes in the
world.”
At this remark, which appeared to him no saner than the others he had
heard—so utterly did he misjudge Mr. Lavender's character—the nephew put
down the notebook he had taken out of his pocket, and said:
“Has there ever been anything—er—remarkable about your family?”
“Indeed, yes,” said Mr. Lavender. “Born of poor but lofty parentage
in the city of Rochester, my father made his living as a publisher; my
mother was a true daughter of the bards, the scion of a stock tracing
its decent from the Druids; her name was originally Jones.”
“Ah!” said the nephew Sinkin, writing.
“She has often told me at her knee,” continued Mr. Lavender, “that there
was a strong vein of patriotism in her family.”
“She did not die—in—in——”
“No, indeed,” interrupted Mr. Lavender; “she is still living there.”
“Ah!” said the nephew. “And your brothers and sisters?”
“One of my brothers,” replied Mr. Lavender, with pardonable pride, “is
the editor of Cud Bits. The other is a clergyman.”
“Eccentric,” murmured the nephew absently. “Tell me, Mr. Lavender, do
you find your work a great strain? Does it——” and he touched the top of
his head, covered with moist black hair.
Mr. Lavender sighed. “At a time like this,” he said, “we must all be
prepared to sacrifice our health. No public man, as you know, can call
his head his own for a moment. I should count myself singularly lacking
if I stopped to consider—er—such a consideration.”
“Consider—er—such a consideration,” repeated the nephew, jotting it
down.
“He carries on,” murmured Mr. Lavender, once more identifying himself
with the journal, “grappling with the intricacies of this enormous
problem; happy in the thought that nothing—not even reason itself—is
too precious to sacrifice on the altar of his duty to his country. The
public may rest confident in the knowledge that he will so carry on till
they carry him out on his shield.” And aware subconsciously that the
interview could go no further than that phrase, Mr. Lavender was silent,
gazing up with rather startled eyes.
“I see,” said the nephew; “I am very much obliged to you. Is your dog
safe?” For Blink had begun to growl in a low and uneasy manner.
“The gentlest creature in the world,” replied Lavender, “and the most
sociable. I sometimes think,” he went on in a changed voice, “that
we have all gone mad, and that animals alone retain the sweet
reasonableness which used to be esteemed a virtue in human society.
Don't take that down,” he added quickly, “we are all subject to moments
of weakness. It was just an 'obiter dictum'.”
“Make your mind easy,” said the nephew, rising, “it does not serve my
purpose. Just one thing, Mr. Lavender.”
At this moment Blink, whose instinct had long been aware of some
sinister purpose in this tall and heavy man, whose trousers did not
smell of dogs, seeing him approach too near, bit him gently in the calf.
The nephew started back. “She's bitten me!” he said, in a hushed voice.
“My God!” ejaculated Mr. Lavender and falling back again, so stiff was
he. “Is it possible? There must be some good reason. Blink!”
Blink wagged her little tail, thrust her nose into his hand, removed it,
and growled again.
“She is quite well, I assure you,” Mr. Lavender added hastily, “her nose
is icy.”
“She's bitten me,” repeated the nephew, pulling up his trouser leg.
“There's no mark, but she distinctly bit me.”
“Treasure!” said Mr. Lavender, endeavouring to interest him in the dog.
“Do you notice how dark the rims of her eyes are, and how clear the
whites? Extraordinarily well bred. Blink!”
Aware that she was being talked of Blink continued to be torn between
the desire to wag her tail and to growl. Unable to make up her mind,
she sighed heavily and fell on her side against her side against her
master's legs.
“Wonderful with sheep, too,” said Mr. Lavender; “at least, she would
be if they would let her.... You should see her with them on the Heath.
They simply can't bear her.”
“You will hear from me again,” said the nephew sourly.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Lavender. “I shall be glad of a proof; it is
always safer, I believe.”
“Good morning,” said the nephew.