some part of the line I had heard a lot about but never been in. I mean,
never been in to stay, because, of course, one often popped in and out.'
'Dick, the day that you----'
'My day? I don't remember being hit, you know. I don't remember anything
till the quietness came. When you have been killed it suddenly becomes
very quiet; quieter even than you have ever known it at home. Sunday
used to be a pretty quiet day at my tutor's, when Trotter and I
flattened out on the first shady spot up the river; but it is quieter
than that. I am not boring you, am I?'
'My boy!'
'When I came to, the veil was so thin that I couldn't see it at all; and
my first thought was, Which side of it have I come out on? The living
ones lying on the ground were asking that about themselves, too. There
we were, all sitting up and asking whether we were alive or dead; and
some were one, and some were the other. Sort of fluke, you know.'
'I--I--oh, Dick!'
'As soon as each had found out about himself he wondered how it had gone
with his chums, I halloo'd to Johnny Randall, and he halloo'd back that
he was dead, but that Trotter was living. That's the way of it. A good
deal of chaff, of course. By that time the veil was there, and getting
thicker, and we lined up on our right sides. Then I could only see the
living ones in shadow and hear their voices from a distance. They sang
out to us for a while; but just at first, father, it was rather lonely
when we couldn't hear their tread any longer. What are you fidgeting
about? You needn't worry; that didn't last long; we were heaps more
interested in ourselves than in them. You should have heard the
gabbling! It was all so frightfully novel, you see; and no one quite
knew what to do next, whether all to start off together, or wait for
some one to come for us. I say, what a lot I'm talking!'
'What happened, Dick?'
'Oh!' a proud ring coming into the voice, 'Ockley came for us. He used
to be alive, you know--the Ockley who was keeper of the fives in my
first half. I once pointed him out to mother. I was jolly glad he was
the one who came for us. As soon as I saw it was Ockley I knew we should
be all right.'
'Dick, I like that Ockley.'
'Rather. I wish I could remember something funny to tell you though.
There are lots of jokes, but I am such a one for forgetting them.'
He laughs boisterously. We may be sure that he flings back his head. You
remember how Dick used to fling back his head when he laughed?--No, you
didn't know him.
'Father, do you remember little Wantage who was at my private and came
on to Ridley's house in my third half? His mother was the one you called
Emily.'
'Emily Wantage's boy.'
'That's the card. We used to call him Jemima, because he and his mother
were both caught crying when lock-up struck, and she had to clear out.'
'She was very fond of him, Dick.'
'Oh, I expect no end. Tell her he's killed.'
'She knows.'
'She had got a wire. That isn't the joke, though. You see he got into a
hopeless muddle about which side of the veil he had come out on; and he
went off with the other ones, and they wouldn't have him, and he got
lost in the veil, running up and down it, calling to us; and just for
the lark we didn't answer.' He chuckles, 'I expect he has become a
ghost!' With sudden consideration, 'Best not tell his mother that.'
Mr. Don rises, wincing, and Dick also is at once on his feet, full of
compunction.
'Was that shabby of me? Sorry, father. We are all pretty young, you
know, and we can't help having our fun still.'
'I'm glad you still have your fun,' the father says, once more putting
his hands on Dick's shoulders. 'Let me look at you again, Dick. There is
such a serenity about you now.'
'Serenity, that's the word! None of us could remember what the word was.
It's a ripping good thing to have. I should be awfully bucked if you
would have it, too.'
'I'll try.'
'I say, how my tongue runs on! But, after all, it was my show. Now, you
tell me some things.'
'What about, Dick? The war?'
'No,' almost in a shout. 'We have a fine for speaking about the war. And
you know, those fellows we were fighting--I forget who they were?'
'The Germans.'
'Oh yes. Some of them were on the same side of the veil with us, and
they were rather decent; so we chummed up in the end and Ockley took us
all away together. They were jolly lucky in getting Ockley. There I go
again! Come on, it's your turn. Has the bathroom tap been mended yet?'
'I'm afraid it is--just tied up with that string still, Dick. It works
all right.'
'It only needs two screw-nails, you know.'
'I'll see to it.'
'Do you know whether any one at my tutors got his fives choice this
half?'
'I'm sorry, Dick, but----'
'Or who is the captain of the boats?'
'No, I----'
'Whatever have you been doing?' He is moving about the room. 'Hullo,
here's mother's work-box! Is mother all right?'
'Very sad about you, Dick.'
'Oh, I say, that isn't fair. Why doesn't she cheer up?'
'It isn't so easy, my boy.'
'It's pretty hard lines on me, you know.'
'How is that?'
'If you are sad, I have to be sad. That's how we have got to work it
off. You can't think how we want to be bright.'
'I'll always remember that, and I'll tell your mother. Ah, but she won't
believe me, Dick; you will have to tell her yourself.'
'I can't do that, father. I can only come to one.'
'She should have been the one; she loved you best, Dick.'
'Oh, I don't know. Do you ever,' with a slight hesitation, 'see Laura
now?'
'She is staying with us at present.'
'Is she? I think I should like to see her.'
'If Laura were to see you----'
'Oh, she wouldn't see me. She is not dressed in black, is she?'
'No, in white.'
'Good girl! I suppose mother is in black?'
'Surely, Dick.'
'It's too bad, you know.'
'You weren't exactly--engaged to Laura, were you, Dick?' A bold question
from a father, but the circumstances were unusual. Apologetically, 'I
never rightly knew.'
'No!' Dick has flung back his head again. Confidentially, 'Father, I
sometimes thought of it, but it rather scared me! I expect that is about
how it was with her, too.'
'She is very broken about you now.'
Irritated, 'Oh, hang!'
'Would you like her to forget you, Dick?'
'Rather not. But she might help a fellow a bit. Hullo!'
What calls forth this exclamation, is the little table at which the
seance had taken place. The four chairs are still standing round it, as
if they were guarding something.
'Here's something new, father; this table.'
'Yes, It is usually in the drawing-room.'
'Of course. I remember.'
Mr. Don sets his teeth. 'Does that table suggest anything to you, Dick?'
'To me? Let me think. Yes, I used to play backgammon on it. What is it
doing here?'
'Your mother brought it in.'
'To play games on? Mother!'
'I don't--know that it was a game, Dick.'
'But to play anything! I'm precious glad she can do that. Was Laura
playing with her?'
'She was helping her.'
'Good for Laura.' He is looking at some slips of paper on the table.
'Are those pieces of paper used in the game? There is writing on them:
"The first letter is H--the second letter is A--the third letter is R."
What does it mean?'
'Does it convey no meaning to you, Dick?'
'To me? No; why should it?'
Mr. Don is enjoying no triumph. 'Let us go back to the fire, my boy.'
Dick follows him into the ingle-nook. 'But, why should it convey a
meaning to me? I was never much of a hand at indoor games.' Brightly,
'I bet you Ockley would be good at it.' After a joyous ramble, 'Ockley's
nickname still sticks to him!'
'I don't think I know it.'
'He was a frightful swell, you know. Keeper of the field, and played
against Harrow the same year. I suppose it did go just a little to his
head.'
They are back in their old seats, and Mr. Don leans forward in gleeful
anticipation. Probably Dick is leaning forward in the same way, and this
old father is merely copying him.
'What did you nickname him, Dick?'
'It was his fags that did it!'
'I should like to know it. I say, do tell me, Dick.'
'He is pretty touchy about it now, you know.'
'I won't tell any one. Come on, Dick.'
'His fags called him K.C.M.G.'
'Meaning, meaning, Dick?'
'Meaning "Kindly Call Me God!"'
Mr. Don flings back his head; so we know what Dick is doing. They are
a hilarious pair, perhaps too noisy, for suddenly Mr. Don looks at the
door.
'I think I heard some one, Dick!'
'Perhaps it's mother!'
'She may,' nervously, 'have heard the row.'
Dick's eyes must be twinkling. 'I say, father, you'll catch it!'
'I can't believe, Dick,' gazing wistfully into the chair, 'that she
won't see you.'
It is a sadder voice than his own for the moment that answers, 'Only one
may see me.'
'You will speak to her, Dick. Let her hear your voice.'
'Only one may hear me. I could make her the one; but it would mean your
losing me.'
'I can't give you up, Dick.'
Mrs. Don comes in, as beautiful as ever, but a little aggrieved.
'I called to you, Robert.'
'Yes, I thought--I was just going to----'
He has come from the ingle-nook to meet her. He looks from her to Dick,
whom he sees so clearly, standing now by the fire. An awe falls upon Mr.
Don. He says her name, meaning, 'See, Grace, who is with us.'
Her eyes follow his, but she sees nothing, not even two arms
outstretched to her. 'What is it, Robert? What is the matter?'
She does not hear a voice say, 'Mother!'
'I heard you laughing, Robert; what on earth at?'
The father cannot speak.
'Now you're in a hole, father!' says a mischievous, voice.
'Can I not be told, Robert?'
'Something in the paper,' the voice whispers.
Mr. Don lifts the paper feebly, and his wife understands. 'Oh, a
newspaper joke! Please, I don't want to hear it.'
'Was it my laughing that brought you back, Grace?'
'No, that would only have made me shut my door. If Dick thought you
could laugh!' She goes to the little table. 'I came back for these
slips of paper.' She lifts them and presses them to her breast. 'These
precious slips of paper!'
Dick was always a curious boy, and forgetting that she cannot hear him,
he blurts out, 'How do you mean, mother? Why are they precious?'
Mr. Don forgets also and looks to her for an answer.
'What is it, Robert?'
'Didn't you--hear anything, Grace?'
'No. Perhaps Laura was calling; I left her on the stair.'
'I wish,' Mr. Don is fighting for Dick now, 'I wish Laura would come
back and say good-night to me.'
'I daresay she will.'
'And,' valiantly, 'if she could be--rather brighter, Grace.'
'Robert!'
'I think Dick would like it.'
Her fine eyes reproach him mutely, but she says, ever forgiving, 'Is
that how you look at it, Robert? Very well, laugh your fill--if you can.
But if Dick were to appear before me to-night----'
In his distress Mr. Don cries aloud to the figure by the fire, 'Dick, if
you can appear to your mother, do it.'
There is a pause in which anything may happen, but nothing happens.
Yes, something happened: Dick has stuck to his father.
'Really, Robert!' Mrs. Don says, and, without a word of reproach, she
goes away. Evidently Dick comes to his father, who has sank into a chair,
and puts a loving hand on him. Mr. Don clasps it without looking up.
'Father, that was top-hole of you! Poor mother, I should have liked to
hug her; but I can't.'
'You should have gone to her, Dick; you shouldn't have minded me.'
The wiser boy says, 'Mother's a darling, but she doesn't need me as much
as you do.'
'I don't know.'
'That's all right. I'm glad she's so keen about that game, though.'
He has returned to the ingle-nook when Laura comes in, eager to make
amends to Dick's father if she hurt him when she went out.
Softly, 'I have come to say good-night, Mr. Don.'
'It's nice of you, Laura,' taking both her hands.
Dick speaks. 'I want her to come nearer to the fire; I can't see her
very well there.'
For a moment Mr. Don is caught out again; but Laura has heard nothing.
He becomes quite cunning in Dick's interests.
'Your hands are cold, Laura; go over to the fire. I want to look at
you.'
She sits on the hearthstone by Dick's feet.
Shyly, 'Am I all right?'
It is Dick who answers. 'You're awfully pretty, Laura. You are even
prettier than I thought. I remember I used to think, she can't be quite
as pretty as I think her; and then when you came you were just a little
prettier.'
She has been warming her hands. 'Why don't you say anything?' she asks
Mr. Don.
'I was thinking of you and Dick, Laura.'
'What a pretty soul she has, father,' says the boy; 'I can see right
down into it now.'
'If Dick had lived, Laura, do you think that you and he--?'
With shining eyes, 'I think--if he had wanted it very much.'
'I expect he would, my dear.'
There is an odd candour about Dick's contribution. 'I think so, too, but
I never was quite sure.' They are a very young pair.
Laura is trembling a little. 'Mr. Don--'
'Yes, Laura?'
'I think there is something wicked about me. I sometimes feel quite
light-hearted--though Dick has gone.'
'Perhaps, nowadays, the fruit trees have that sort of shame when they
blossom, Laura; but they can't help doing it. I hope you are yet to be
a happy woman, a happy wife.'
'It seems so heartless to Dick.'
'Not a bit; it's what I should like,' Dick says.
'It's what he would like, Laura.'
'Do you remember, Laura,' Dick goes on, 'I kissed you once. It was under
a lilac in the Loudon Woods. I knew at the time that you were angry, and
I should have apologised. I'm sorry, Laura.'
His sweetheart has risen, tasting something bitter-sweet. 'What is it,
Laura?' Mr. Don asks.
'Somehow--I don't know how--but, for a moment I seemed to feel the smell
of lilac. Dick was once--nice to me under a lilac. Oh, Mr. Don--' She
goes to him like a child, and he soothes and pets her.
'There, there! That will be all right, quite all right.' He takes her to
the door. 'Good-night, my dear.'
'Good-night, Mr. Don.'
'Good-bye, Laura,' says the third voice.
Mr. Don is looking so glum that the moment they are alone Dick has to
cry warningly, 'Face!' He is probably looking glum himself, for he says
candidly, 'Pretty awful things, these partings. Father, don't feel hurt
though I dodge the good-bye business when I leave you.'
'That's so like you, Dick!'
'I'll have to go soon.'
'Oh, Dick! Can't you--'
'There's something I want not to miss, you see.'
'I'm glad of that.'
'I'm not going yet; but I mean that when I do I'll just slip away.'
'What I am afraid of is that you won't come back.'
'I will--honest Injun--if you keep bright.'
'But, if I do that, Dick, you might think I wasn't missing you so much.'
'We know better than that. You see, if you're bright, I'll get a good
mark for it.'
'I'll be bright.'
Dick pops him into the settle again.
'Remember your pipe.'
'Yes, Dick.'
'Do you still go to that swimming-bath, and do your dumb-bell
exercises?'
'No, I--'
'You must.'
'All right, Dick, I will.'
'And I want you to be smarter next time. Your hair's awful.'
'I'll get it cut, Dick.'
'Are you hard at work over your picture of those three Graces?'
'No. I put that away. I'm just doing little things nowadays. I can't--'
'Look here, sonny, you've got to go on with it. You don't seem to know
how interested I am in your future.'
'Very well, Dick; I'll bring it out again.'
Mr. Don hesitates.
'Dick, there is something I have wanted to ask you all the time.'
Some fear seems to come into the boy's voice. 'Don't ask it, father.'
'I shall go on worrying about it if I don't--but just as you like,
Dick.'
'Go ahead, father; ask me.'
'It is this. Would you rather be--here--than there?'
After a pause the boy says, 'Not always.'
'What is the great difference, Dick?'
'Well, down here one knows he has risks to run.'
'And you miss that?'
'It must be rather jolly.'
'Did you know that was what I was to ask?'
'Yes. But, remember, I'm young at it.'
'And your gaiety, Dick; is it all real, or only put on to help me?'
'It's--it's half and half, father.'
'Face!' he cries, next moment. Then cajolingly, 'Father, K.C.M.G.!'
'When will you come again, Dick?'
'There's no saying. One can't always get through. They keep changing the
password.' His voice grows troubled. 'It's awfully difficult to get the
password.'
'What was it to-night?'
'Love Bade Me Welcome.'
Mr. Don rises; he stares at his son.
'How did you get it, Dick?'
'I'm not sure.' Dick seems to go closer to his father, as if for
protection. 'There are lots of things I don't understand yet.'
'There are things I don't understand either. Dick, did you ever try to
send messages--from there---to us?'
'Me? No.'
'Or get messages from us?'
'No. How could we?'
'Is there anything in it?'
Mr. Don is not speaking to his son. He goes to the little table and
looks long at it. Has it taken on a sinister aspect? Those chairs, are
they guarding a secret?
'Dick, this table--your mother--how could they----'
He turns, to find that Dick has gone.
'Dick! My boy! Dick!'
The well-remembered voice leaves a message behind it.
'Be bright, father.'
Mr. Don sits down by the fire to think it all out.