EUSTACE FETCHES BEER
After this sudden burst of excitement had died away, a watchful calm
descended on the front line. "C" Company were relieved next day by "B"
Company, and went into close support. Here they were in a zone more
subjected to shell-fire than in the front line itself; but this worried
them very little, as for the most part they spent their four days
snugly in dug-outs, listening to the occasional dull thud caused by an
explosion up above, and waiting in readiness to turn out at any moment
in the event of a raid. One or two parties were called out to carry
rations up to "B" Company, but the only casualty was a man who was
hit in the arm by a shell-splinter, and departed for "Blighty" openly
exulting in his good fortune.
On the fourth day the battalion was relieved and went back into Brigade
Reserve. Here they were to stay for eight days while the battalion in
the line completed its duty. What might happen after that was a matter
for speculation, known only to Providence--and possibly (though not
very probably) the Staff. Anyhow, the events of so dim and distant a
future were a matter of supreme indifference to the rank and file. It
was enough for them that for a week or so at any rate they would have
deep, warm dug-outs, well back from the line.
As soon as the company settled in, Bill Grant returned to the platoon,
his services as extra runner being no longer required. Alf would have
welcomed him under any circumstances; but on this occasion he was
specially glad to have his pal back again. He was worried and needed
advice. He had, in fact, decided to take Bill into his confidence on
the subject of Eustace, and was now simply waiting for an opportunity
of a private and uninterrupted conversation with him. A _tête-à tête_,
especially if it entails a practical demonstration of oriental magic,
is not the easiest thing on earth for two Tommies in the forward area
to arrange.
A kindly Fate assisted them, however. The particular system of trenches
they were inhabiting, like all systems constructed by that industrious
mole, the Boche, was honeycombed with deep dug-outs--far more than
the 5th Battalion could possibly use. It occurred to the two warriors
that it would be an excellent plan to find a disused and secluded
specimen for their own private use. In such a haven Alf could unfold
his portentous secret without fear of interruption, while Bill, who
objected on principle to being put on working parties and fatigues,
felt that the best safeguard against inclusion in these treats was an
alibi. After a search they discovered a snug retreat in which they
intended to spend as much of their spare time as possible, returning
to their mates only at meal-times and other occasions when their
absence might be noticed.
The afternoon was pleasantly mild, and for the first time the air
seemed to contain a hint of Spring. Instead of retiring underground
they sat in the entrance of their new home quietly smoking. As soon
as their pipes were well alight, Alf broached the subject which was
weighing so heavily on his mind.
"Bill," he asked. "D'yer believe in spirits?"
"Prefer beer."
"Not them sort o' spirits, I don't mean. I mean spooks. D'yer believe
in spooks, Bill?"
"People what sees spooks," said Bill dogmatically, "is liars, or
boozed."
Grant's attitude was unpromising, but Alf was determined to persevere.
"What would yer say if I told yer I'd seen a spook, Bill?" he demanded.
"I'd say you'd 'ad a drop too much," was the uncompromising reply.
"An' if I saw it when I 'adn't 'ad a drop at all?"
Bill turned and regarded him.
"Look 'ere, Alf 'Iggins," he remarked acidly. "Yer worse'n a bloomin'
kid f'r asking yer blighted silly questions. If you got anything to
say, for 'Eaven's sake spit it out an' 'ave done with it."
Thus adjured, Alf plunged into his story, omitting only his adventure
with the aeroplanes, which he considered would be safer hidden even
from Bill.
That gentleman heard him to the end without comment.
"I b'lieve it's up to me to take yer to the M.O.," he said at last
seriously.
Alf was annoyed.
"Don't be a idjit. This is a _real_ spook, I tell yer!"
"Garn! You bin sleepin' on yer back an' dreamt it all. Why, this 'ere
Aladdin you talk about--there never was no sich feller. 'E's just a
bloke in a fairy story."
"Dreamt it!" repeated Alf indignantly. "Dream be blowed. I couldn't
dream meself pink all over, could I?"
"No, but you could catch scarlet fever an' 'ave delirious trimmings
on top of it," said Bill caustically. "But you can't make me see this
blessed spook o' yours, any'ow."
This was a direct challenge, and Alf rubbed his Button. Bill's tin hat
fell off.
"Lor'!" he said, sitting up straight.
"What wouldst thou have?" enquired Eustace. "I am ready to obey thee as
thy slave...."
"'Op it," replied Alf feebly. He had forgotten to think out any excuse
for summoning the djinn, and could think of nothing else to say.
Eustace, his opinion of Alf obviously lower than ever, disappeared.
"Lumme!" said Bill. He smoked in silence for some minutes, deep in
thought.
"Where the 'ell does 'e come from, and what does 'e do?" he asked at
length.
"'Oo?"
"That spook, o' course."
"I dunno. I rubs me Button, an' 'e bounces in an' asks for orders. 'Alf
the time I don't want 'im at all. An' if I do tell 'im to do things, 'e
gets 'em all wrong. 'E don't seem to lave no common sense, some'ow."
Bill was following out some train of thought.
"Look 'ere, Alf," he said. "What can you remember about this feller
Aladdin? What 'appened to 'im in the panto?"
Alf considered.
"There was a bloke sang something about a rose growin' in a garden.
Pathetic it was," he announced after deep thought.
"Blighted fool!" commented Bill with pardonable heat. "I don't mean
_that_. What 'appened to this chap, Aladdin, 'isself?"
"Oh, 'im! A bloomin' girl, 'e was, in the pantomime. I didn't take much
notice what 'appened to 'im--married some one, I think."
"Yes, but 'oo?" asked Bill, with an air of playing his trump card.
"I dunno. Princess Something."
"That's what I remember. An' they 'ad palaces, an' jools, an' money,
an' everything. An' 'ow did they get 'em, eh?"
"I dunno."
Alf was really being very dense. Bill tapped him impressively on the
arm.
"Your spook brought 'em," he said.
"Eustace?"
"That what you call 'im? Yes, 'im."
They gazed at each other, Bill in triumph. Alf in astonishment; at last
the latter found his voice.
"I never thought o' that kind o' thing!" he said.
"No, you're a proper thick-'ed," retorted Grant unkindly. "Now, you
send for 'im an' make 'im do something useful for a change."
"What shall it be?"
"Mine," replied Bill, without hesitation, "is beer. Always was. An'
mind, none o' that Govermint muck neither. Something with a bit o' body
in it."
"Send _'im_ for _beer_?" whispered Alf in horror. He could not have
looked more shocked if Bill had suggested sending the sergeant-major to
buy him a paper. He had an instinctive feeling that Eustace was one to
do things on a grand scale, and would resent being employed as a mere
potman. He rubbed his Button nervously, and avoided Eustace's eye.
"Is it my Lord's desire that his servant should hop it?" asked the
spirit, abandoning his usual formula. He was, he felt, just beginning
to settle down to his new master's ways.
"No," said Alf, fixing his eyes on vacancy. "Bring me two beers,
please, Eustace."
"Two biers, O possessor of wisdom?" repeated the djinn, wondering if
his startled ears could have heard aright.
"Yes. Two beers, I said. And 'urry up."
Eustace bowed low, muttered "Thy wish is my command," and vanished.
Almost immediately afterwards, with a dull thud apiece, two cumbersome
and curiously carved stone sarcophagi fell side by side into the
trench, which they blocked completely. Alf and Bill gazed open-mouthed
first at the two sepulchers and then at one another.
"What the 'ell's this mean?" asked Bill at last.
Alf, mortified beyond measure at the failure of his attempt to impress
his pal, gave a resigned gesture.
"What did I tell yer?" he asked. "That's the kind o' thing 'e's always
doin'! No common sense."
"Well, p'raps 'e misunderstood yer. P'raps 'e thought you wanted...."
"Thought I wanted! Didn't I speak plain English? Ain't 'beer' plain
enough for 'im? 'Ow can 'e 'ave misunderstood 'beer'?"
"Well, p'raps these 'ere things are called 'beer' in 'is language."
Alf snorted.
"I ask yer, do they look like it? No, it's just 'is fat-'eaded way."
He rubbed his Button fiercely.
"Take these blinkin' egg-boxes away, Eustace," he said. "An' pull
yerself together. I asked yer for beer--stuff what you drinks, savvy?"
He made a gesture of drinking. The djinn, with a sudden light of
comprehension in his face, bowed and vanished with the sarcophagi, to
reappear a moment later with an enormous tray on his head. From this he
proceeded to deal out a great number of covered metal plates, exactly
as a conjurer produces strange objects from a top hat. He set them down
in the trench, and with a final flourish brought forth an enormous
silver flagon and two heavily chased goblets. These he placed with the
other things, and disappeared.
"Ah!" said Bill, smacking his lips in anticipation. "This looks more
like it. Bit 'olesale in 'is ways, ain't 'e? Seems to take us for the
Lord Mayor's Banquet."
He lifted the cover from one of the plates and smelt the contents.
"Fish o' some kind," he said dubiously. "Smells funny. Never could
stand them foreign messes."
Alf did likewise to another dish.
"Muck," he said succinctly. "Give me good ole roast beef an' mutton
every time. I likes to know what I'm eatin', I do. Pour the drink out,
Bill."
Thus adjured, Bill filled the goblets and passed one to Alf.
"Good 'ealth!"
"Good 'ealth!" chorused both warriors. Their heads went back in unison;
also in unison, they gave a tremendous splutter of disgust.
"My Gawd!" said Alf thickly, "I'm poisoned! What the 'ell is it?"
"Tastes like a mixture of 'oney an' ink, with a dash o' chlorate
o' lime," said Bill, apparently trying to shake the remains of the
nauseous mixture from the roof of his mouth. "'Ere, 'ave that blinkin'
spook o' yours back again an' tell 'im orf."
Once more Alf rubbed the button and summoned his familiar.
"What wouldst thou have," said Eustace, appearing promptly, but with a
trace of resentment in his face, "I am ready...."
"Stow it!" said Alf. "You're a lot _too_ ready, seems to me. Why d'yer
want to bring us all this bloomin' lay-out? I didn't order no food,
an' if I 'ad I wouldn't 'ave meant un'oly messes like that. You're too
blinkin' 'olesale in yer ways. Take it all away. An' as for drink,
you've 'arf poisoned us with the muck you've brought."
"Lord of might," said Eustace. "These are of the choicest of the meats
and the wines of Arabia."
"Gawd 'elp Arabia, then. An' I asked for beer, B-E-A-R, beer. D'yer
mean to say they don't 'ave it in Arabia?"
Eustace shook his head.
"Poor blighters!" put in Bill. "No wonder they're 'eathens."
"Now, look 'ere, Eustace," said Alf instructively. "Beer is--er--beer
is--well, it's.... I say, Bill, 'ow the 'ell can yer explain beer to
any one as doesn't know what it is?"
"Well," said Bill. "It's brown stuff, made from 'ops an' malt an' such,
an' you get it in Blighty--that's England, you savvy--in barrels. Just
you 'op over there, an' you'll see. Or any one'll tell you."
This lucid explanation sufficed Eustace, for this time he disappeared
with the scorned banquet, and returned in a twinkling with two foaming
tankards.
Alf and Bill smelt the contents with grave suspicion, which changed at
once to a happy foaming smile apiece.
"That's the goods!" said Alf.
"Ah!" said Bill, smacking his lips with deep satisfaction. "Ole Aladdin
knew a thing or two, 'e did. Let's 'ave another o' the same an' drink
'is 'ealth."
"No, Bill. It'll 'urt ole Eustace' feelings. If you was a spook what
could build palaces an' sich in 'arf a tick, would _you_ like to 'ave
to go all the way to 'ell for two bloomin' pints? Besides we've kept
'im on the go pretty fair as it is."
"Make it 'ogs'eds, then."
But Alf was adamant.
"Very well, don't then," said Grant with sudden asperity. "But if yer
won't oblige a pal in a little thing like that, w'y don't yer get on
with it an' _do_ something? Fat lot o' good you done so far with yer
pet devil! W'y, yer mighter stopped the 'ole war by now."
"Might I? 'Ow?"
"Easy enough. All you gotter do is to send ole Eustace over to fetch
the Kaiser 'ere, an' there yer are! Can't yer see it in all the
papers--'Private Alf 'Iggins, V.C.--The 'ero as captured the Kaiser'?"
"Yes, I see meself gettin' it in the neck. I 'ope I knows my place
better'n to go monkeyin' with kings.... Look out, the orficers!"
It was too late for them to gain the sanctuary of their dug-out, and
they rose awkwardly to their feet as Shaw and Donaldson came along the
trench. They had been out on an exploring expedition. Bill and Alf,
seeing that neither Richards nor Allen was present, had hopes that
they would not attract attention; but Donaldson, for all his sleepy
appearance, was quick of eye.
"What's that in your hand, Grant?" he asked.
Bill, cursing inwardly the prying spirit to which he considered the
commissioned ranks much too prone, reluctantly drew from behind him the
tankard from which he had been drinking. Higgins did likewise, and the
officers took one each.
"How awfully interesting," said Shaw. "Where did you find these, Grant?"
"In one of these 'ere dug-outs, sir."
"By Jove, Don!" Shaw turned to his companion. "Fritz does love to do
himself well!"
He broke off in surprise. Donaldson had suddenly thrown off his air of
boredom and was examining his tankard with an alert eye.
"Must be looted stuff," he said. "I'm a bit of an expert in these
things. That's ancient oriental work, worth quite a bit."
"Excuse me, sir," put in Bill suavely. "But if this 'ere is any good to
you as a souvenir, I don't set no partickler store by it."
"Nor me, sir," agreed Alf.
"Want to sell?"
"If you like, sir."
"Can't afford it. I'm not going to do you in. These mugs are probably
worth a good bit."
"That's all right, sir. We'd much rather 'ave ten francs apiece now,
sir. We didn't neither of us get much last time we 'ad a pay."
"Whose fault was that?" asked Shaw.
"I'll give you," Donaldson said, "twenty francs each--all I can manage."
"Thank you, sir."
"And mind, I expect to see some of this sent home when I censor the
letters. I wouldn't give you so much all at once if we were in a place
where we could get beer----"
"Aren't we, though," put in Shaw, pointing to a drop of amber liquid in
the tankard he held. "Smell that!"
Donaldson sniffed.
"Beer, and good beer at that," he pronounced. He looked enquiringly at
the two Tommies. Alf gave himself up for lost, but not so Bill.
"Yes, sir," he said easily. "I noticed that meself."
"I dare say," answered Donaldson grimly. "The point is, can you explain
it?"
Bill's face grew preternaturally innocent.
"I expect, sir, Fritz left the mugs behind 'im in the Big Frost, sir,
an' the drops got froze in. Prob'ly thawed again with the warmth of our
'ands."
Donaldson eyed the propounder of this ingenious theory gravely.
"Probably," he agreed. And relapsing into his customary taciturnity,
he strode off down the trench with his two mugs, little Shaw trotting
behind, still lost in wonder at the sudden discovery of an artistic
side in old Don.
"'E don't believe yer," said Alf apprehensively.
"'Course not. 'E's no fool, isn't Don, for all 'e looks 'arf asleep.
But 'e's a sport, an' 'e likes a good lie. You'll see, 'e'll say no
more about it. Let's 'ave another."
Alf, whose throat was parched with all he had been through, this time
let no consideration for the feelings of Eustace deter him.