THE SLACKER--IN UNIFORM
Mrs. P.A. Brunton was convinced that she was an exceptional woman in
every way. She would tell you this in the first fifteen minutes of
conversation that you had with her, for many of her sentences began,
"Now, I know, of course, that I am peculiar in many ways"; or, "I am
afraid you will not understand me when I say this"; or, "I am afraid I
am hopelessly old-fashioned in this." She would explain with
painstaking elaboration that she did not know why she was so peculiar,
but her manner indicated that she was quite content to be so; indeed,
it can only be described as one of boastful resignation. She seemed to
glory in her infirmity.
Mrs. Brunton was quite opposed to women voting, and often spoke with
sorrow of the movement, which to her meant the breaking-up of the home
and all its sacred traditions. She did not specify how this would be
done, but her attitude toward all new movements was one of keen
distrust. She often said that of course she would be able to vote
intelligently, for she had had many advantages and had listened to
discussions of public matters all her life, having been brought up in
an atmosphere of advanced thinking; but she realized that her case was
an exceptional one. It was not the good fortune of every woman to have
had a college course as she had, and she really could not see what
good could come from a movement which aimed at making all women equal!
Why, if women ever got the vote, an ignorant washwoman's vote might
kill hers! It was so much better to let women go on as they were
going, exerting their indirect influence; and then it was the woman of
wealth and social prestige who was able to exert this influence, just
as it should be! She certainly did not crave a vote, and would do all
she could to prevent other women from getting it.
Mrs. Brunton had come from the East, and although she had lived many
years in the West, she could never forget what a sacrifice she had
made by coming to a new country. Being a college graduate, too, seemed
to be something she could not outgrow!
When her only boy was old enough to go to school, she became the
teacher's bad dream, for she wrote many notes and paid many calls to
explain that Garth was not at all like other children and must not be
subjected to the same discipline as they, for he had a proud and
haughty spirit that would not submit to discipline unless it were
tactfully disguised. Garth was a quiet, mild little lad who would have
been much like other boys if left alone.
Garth was twenty years old when the war began, and he was then
attending the university. He first spoke of enlisting when the war had
gone on a year.
"Enlist!" his mother cried, when he mentioned it to her, "I should say
not--you are my only child, and I certainly did not raise you to be a
soldier. There are plenty of common people to do the fighting; there
are men who really like it; but I have other ambitions for you--you
are to be a university man."
When the Third University Company went, he spoke of it again, but his
mother held firm.
"Do you think I am going to have you sleeping in those awful trenches,
with every Tom, Dick, and Harry? I tell you soldiering is a rough
business, and I cannot let a boy of mine go--a boy who has had your
advantages must not think of it."
"But, mother, there are lots of boys going who have had just as good
advantages as I have."
Just then came in Emily Miller, the little girl from next door whose
brother was going away the next day. Emily was an outspoken young lady
of fourteen.
"When are you going, Garth?" she asked pointedly.
"He is not going," said his mother firmly. "His duty is at home
finishing his education, and I am simply amazed at your mother for
letting Robert go. Does she not believe in education? Of course I know
there are not many who lay the stress on it that I do, but with me it
is education first--always."
"But the war won't wait," said Emily; "my mother would be very glad to
have Bob finish his education, but she's afraid it will be over then."
"War or no war, I say let the boys get their education--what is life
without it?"
Emily surveyed her calmly, and then said, "What would happen to us if
every mother held her boy back--what if every mother took your
attitude, Mrs. Brunton?"
"You need not speculate on that, child, for they won't. Most mothers
run with the popular fancy--they go with the crowd--never thinking,
but I have always been peculiar, I know."
"Oh, mother, cut out that 'peculiar' business--it makes me tired!"
said Garth undutifully.
When Robert Miller came in to say good-bye, he said: "You'll be
lonesome, Garth, when we all go and you are left with the women and
the old men--but perhaps you will enjoy being the only young man at
the party."
"Garth may go later," said his mother,--"at least if the war lasts
long enough,--but not as a private. I will not object to his taking
the officers' classes at the university."
"See, Bob," crowed Garth, "I'll have you and Jim Spaulding for my two
batmen over there. But never mind, I'll be good to you and will see
that you get your ha'pennyworth of 'baccy and mug of beer regular."
Mrs. Brunton laughed delightedly. "Garth always sees the funny side,"
she cooed.
"That certainly is a funny side all right," said Robert, "but he'll
never see it! These pasteboard officers never last after they get
over--they can only carry it off here. Over there, promotions are on
merit, not on political pull."
The third, fourth, and fifth contingents went from the university, and
still Garth pursued the quest of learning. His mother openly rebuked
the mothers of the boys who had gone. "Let the man on the street go!
Look at the unemployed men on our streets!" she said; "why aren't they
made to go--and leave our university boys at home?"
"Every man owes a duty to his country," one of the mothers said. "If
one man neglects or refuses to pay, that is no reason for others to
do the same. This is a holy war--holier than any of the crusades--for
the crusader went out to restore the tomb of our Lord, and that is
only a material thing; but our boys are going out to give back to the
world our Lord's ideals, and I know they are more precious to Him than
any tomb could be!"
"My dear Mrs. Mason," said Garth's mother, "you are simply war-mad
like so many women--it is impossible to reason with you."
A year went by, and many of the university boys were wounded and some
were killed. To the mothers of these went Mrs. Brunton with words of
sympathy, but came away wondering. Some way they did not seem to
receive her warmly.
"Where is Garth now?" asked one of these women.
"He's thinking of taking the officers' training," answered Mrs.
Brunton, "as soon as the college term closes. A boy meets the very
nicest people there, and I do think that is so important, to meet nice
people."
"And no Germans!" said the other woman tartly.
* * * * *
Mrs. Brunton gave a very select and intellectual farewell party for
Garth when he went to another city to take the officers' training, and
she referred to him as "my brave soldier laddie," much to the
amusement of some of the party.
In two weeks he came home on leave of absence, very elegant in his new
uniform. He also brought cabinet-sized photographs which cost eighteen
dollars a dozen. Another party was held--the newspaper said he was the
"_raison d'être_ for many pleasant social gatherings."
At the end of two weeks he went out again to take more classes. He was
very popular with the girls, and the mother of one of them came to
visit Mrs. Brunton. They agreed on the subject of military training
and education, and exceptional women, and all was gay and happy.
At the end of three months Garth again came home. No hero from the
scenes of battle was ever more royally received, and an afternoon
reception was held, when patriotic songs were sung and an uncle of the
young man made a speech.
Soon after that Garth went to Toronto and took another course, because
his mother thought it was only right for him to see his own country
first, before going abroad; and, besides, no commission had yet been
offered him. The short-sightedness of those in authority was a subject
which Mrs. Brunton often dwelt on, but she said she could not help
being glad.
Meanwhile the war went wearily on; battalion after battalion went out
and scattering remnants came home. Empty sleeves, rolled trousers
legs, eyes that stared, and heads that rolled pitifully appeared on
the streets. On the sunshiny afternoons many of these broken men sat
on the verandas of the Convalescent Home and admired the smart young
lieutenant who went whistling by--and wondered what force he was with.
The war went on to the completion of its third year. Garth had
attended classes in three cities, and had traveled Canada from end to
end. There had been four farewell parties and three receptions in his
honor. He came home again for what his mother termed "a well-earned
rest."
He sat on the veranda one day luxuriously ensconced in a wicker chair,
smoking a cigarette whose blue wreaths of smoke he blew gayly from
him. He was waiting for the postman--one of Mae's letters had
evidently gone astray, and the postman, who seemed to be a stupid
fellow, had probably given it to some one else. He had made several
mistakes lately, and Garth determined that it was time he was
reprimanded--the young officer would attend to that.
"Posty" came at last, a few minutes late again, and Garth rapped
imperiously with his cane, as "Posty," peering at the addresses of the
letters, came up the steps.
"See here," cried Garth, "let me see what you have!"
"Posty" started nervously and the letters dropped from his hands.
While he gathered them up, Garth in his most military manner delivered
himself of a caustic rebuke:--
"You have left letters here which belong elsewhere, and I have lost
letters through your carelessness. What is the matter with you
anyway--can't you read?" he snapped.
"Yes, sir," stammered "Posty," flushing as red as the band on his hat.
"Well, then," went on the young officer, "why don't you use your
eyes--where do you keep them anyway?"
"Posty" stood at attention as he answered with measured
deliberation:--
"I have one of them here ... but I left the other one at Saint-Éloi.
Were you thinking of hunting it up for me, sir,--when--you--go--over?"
* * * * *
That was six weeks ago. Still the war goes on. Returned men walk our
streets, new pale faces lie on hospital pillows, telegraph boys on
wheels carry dread messages to the soldiers' homes.
Garth has gone back to an Eastern city for another course (this time
in signaling). He gave a whole set of buttons off his uniform to Mae
before he went--and he had his photograph taken again!
Even if he does not get over in time to do much in this war, it is
worth something to have such a perfectly trained young officer ready
for the next war!