A year later Doggie Trevor returned to Durdlebury. He had been laid up
in hospital with a wounded leg, the result of fighting the German
snipers in front of the first line trenches, and he was now on his way
back to France. Durdlebury had not changed in the interval; it was
Marmaduke Trevor that had changed. He measured about ten inches more
around the chest than the year before, and his hands were red and
calloused from hard work. He was as straight as an Indian now, and in
his rough khaki uniform of a British private he looked every bit a
man--yes, and more than that, a veteran soldier. For Doggie had passed
through battle after battle, gas attacks, mine explosions, and months of
dreary duty in water-filled trenches, where only brave and tough men
could endure. He had been tried in the furnace and he had come out pure
gold.
Doggie entered the familiar Deanery, and was met by Peggy with a glad
smile of welcome. His uncle, the Dean, appeared in the hall, florid,
whitehaired, benevolent, and extended both hands to the homecoming
warrior.
"My dear boy," he said, "how glad I am to see you! Welcome back! And
how's the wound?"
Opening the drawing-room door, he pushed Doggie inside. A tall, lean
figure in uniform, which had remained in the background by the
fireplace, advanced with outstretched hand.
"Hello, old chap!"
Doggie took the hand in an honest grip.
"Hello, Oliver!"
"How goes it?" asked Oliver.
"Splendid," said Doggie. "Are you all right?"
"Tip-top," answered Oliver. He clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "My
hat! you do look fit."
He turned to the Dean. "Uncle Edward, isn't he a hundred times the man
he was?"
In a little while tea came. It appeared to Doggie, handing round the
three-tiered cake-stand, that he had returned to some forgotten
existence. The delicate china cup in his hand seemed too frail for the
material usages of life, and he feared lest he break it, for Doggie was
accustomed to the rough dishes of the private.
The talk lay chiefly between Oliver and himself and ran on the war. Both
men had been at Ypres and at Arras, where the British and German
trenches lay only five yards apart.
"I ought to be over there now," said Oliver, "but I just escaped
shell-shock and I was sent home for two weeks."
"My crowd is at the Somme," said Doggie.
"You're well out of it, old chap," laughed Oliver.
For the first time in his life Doggie began really to like Oliver.
Oliver stood in his eyes in a new light, that of the typical officer,
trusted and beloved by his men, and Doggie's heart went out to him.
After some further talk, the men separated to dress for dinner.
"You've got the green room, Marmaduke," said Peggy. "The one with the
Chippendale furniture you used to covet so much."
"I haven't got much to change into," laughed Doggie, looking down at his
uniform.
"You'll find Peddle up there waiting for you."
When Doggie entered the green room, he found Peddle, who welcomed him
with tears of joy and a display of all the luxuries of the toilet and
adornment which Doggie had left behind at home. There were pots of
[v]pomade and face cream, and nail polish; bottles of hair-wash and
tooth-wash; half a dozen gleaming razors; the array of brushes and combs
and [v]manicure set in [v]tortoise-shell with his crest in silver;
bottles of scent; the purple silk dressing-gown; a soft-fronted shirt
fitted with ruby and diamond sleeve-links; the dinner jacket and suit
laid out on the glass-topped table, with tie and handkerchief; the silk
socks, the glossy pumps.
"My, Peddle!" cried Doggie, scratching his closely-cropped head. "What's
all this?"
Peddle, gray, bent, uncomprehending, regarded him blankly.
"All what, sir?"
"I only want to wash my hands," said Doggie.
"But aren't you going to dress for dinner, sir?"
"A private soldier's not allowed to wear [v]mufti," returned Doggie.
"Who's to find out?"
"There's Mr. Oliver; he's a major."
"Ah, Mr. Marmaduke, he wouldn't mind. Miss Peggy gave me my orders, sir,
and I think you can leave things to her."
"All right, Peddle," laughed Doggie. "If it's Miss Peggy's decree, I'll
change my clothes. I have all I want."
"Are you sure you can manage, sir?" Peddle asked anxiously, for the time
was when Doggie could not stick his legs into his trousers unless Peddle
helped him.
"Quite," said Doggie.
"It seems rather roughing it, here at the Deanery, Mr. Marmaduke, after
what you've been accustomed to at the Hall," said Peddle.
"That's so," replied Doggie. "And it's martyrdom compared to what it is
in the trenches. There we always have a major-general to lace our boots
and a field-marshall to hand us coffee."
Peddle looked blank, being utterly unable to comprehend the nature of a
joke.
A little later, when Doggie went downstairs to dinner, he found Peggy
alone in the drawing-room.
"Now you look more like a Christian gentleman," she said. "Confess: it's
much more comfortable than your wretched private's uniform."
"I'm not quite so sure," he replied, somewhat ruefully, indicating his
dinner jacket, which was tightly constricted beneath the arms. "Already
I've had to slit my waistcoat down the back. Poor old Peddle will have a
fit when he sees it. I've grown a bit since these elegant rags were made
for me."
Oliver came in--in khaki. Doggie jumped up and pointed to him.
"Look here, Peggy," he said; "I'll be sent to the guard-room."
Oliver laughed. "I did change my uniform," he said. "I don't know where
my dinner clothes are."
"That's the best thing about being a major," spoke up Doggie. "They have
heaps of suits. Poor Tommy has but one suit to his name."
Then the Dean and his wife entered, and they went in to dinner. It was
for Doggie the most pleasant of meals. He had the superbly healthy man's
whole-hearted appreciation for unaccustomed good food. There were other
and finer pleasures--the table with its exquisite [v]napery and china
and glass and silver and flowers. There was the delightful atmosphere of
peace and gentle living. And there was Oliver--a new Oliver.
Most of all, Doggie appreciated Oliver's comrade-like attitude. It was a
recognition of him as a soldier. He had "made good" in the eyes of one
of the finest soldiers in the British army, and what else mattered? To
Doggie the supreme joy of that pleasurable evening was the knowledge
that he had done well in the eyes of Oliver. The latter wore on his
tunic the white, mauve, and white ribbon of the Military Cross. Honor
where honor was due. But he--Doggie--had been wounded, and Oliver
frankly put them both on the same plane of achievement, thus wiping away
with generous hand all the hated memories of the past.
When the ladies left the room the Dean went with them, and the cousins
were left alone.
"And now," said Oliver, "don't you think you're a bit of a fool,
Doggie?"
"I know it," Doggie returned cheerfully. "The army has drummed that into
me at any rate."
"I mean in staying in the ranks," Oliver went on. "Why don't you apply
for the Cadet Corps and get a commission again?"
Doggie's brow grew dark. "I will tell you," he replied. "The only real
happiness I've had in my life has been as a Tommy. I'm not talking
foolishness. The only real friends I've ever made in my life are
Tommies. I've a real life as a Tommy, and I'm satisfied. When I came to
my senses after being thrown out for incompetence and I enlisted, I made
a vow that I would stick it out as a Tommy without anybody's sympathy,
least of all that of the people here. And as a Tommy I am a real soldier
and do my part."
Oliver smiled. "I'm glad you told me, old man. I appreciate it very
much. I've been through the ranks myself and know what it is--the bad
and the good. Many a man has found his soul that way--"
"Heavens!" cried Doggie, starting to his feet. "Do you say that, too?"
The cousins clasped hands. That was Oliver's final recognition of Doggie
as a soldier and a man. Doggie had found his soul.