The arrival of the baby boy at Gloucester Place made an extraordinary
difference in many ways. Katherine might well have protested
against being deprived of some of her rights; instead she looked on
good-temperedly and with an obvious pride in the interest created by
her son; her own talk was mainly of the bank, and the possibility
that the authorities might allow her to return so soon as she was
sufficiently restored to health. It depended, she told me, on the
quality of girls newly engaged there since her departure; a highly
placed official named Cummings would have a voice in the matter.
"Cummings is a bachelor," she went on, "and he won't be very amiably
disposed in my case. When a bachelor reaches the age of fifty he is
inclined to take what he calls the common sense view. And common sense
will be all against me."
"What is his first name?" I asked casually.
"Timothy," she replied, "but the scandalous circumstance is not
generally known. He hopes that people assume it is Thomas."
Mr. Hillier, advanced in position at Woolwich, and able, at times, to
return home at an early hour, came now at a trot from the station,
and his first inquiry as he ascended the staircase always concerned
the infant; Edward gave up his occasional evenings at the theatre to
return home, chat to Katherine, and, by permission of nurse, find
himself allowed to hold the baby for a few minutes; old Mrs. Winterton
discovered amongst her treasures, mid Victorian toys such as ivory
rings, china dolls with black painted hair, and a wooden horse of
barrel shape with circular stripes, The greatest change to be noticed
was in Muriel. Muriel, in the presence of Master Langford, threw off
all the masks that she wore at various times--aloofness, indifference,
studied composure, sedateness--and, as Edward said, gave herself
away completely when the baby was in sight. She talked to him in the
mysterious language that the very young are supposed to understand, she
was deferential towards nurse in order that she might be allowed to
share nurse's duties; to be permitted to glance at him, the last thing,
as he slept, was counted by her a remarkable privilege. Muriel assured
me that the slightest whimper from his cot during the night, aroused
her instantly.
"At office," she mentioned, with good humour, "I seem to have been
making him the one topic of my conversation. At any rate, a round robin
was presented to me to-day signed by all the girls in my room, and
pointing out that I am not the only aunt in the world. I suppose it
is true, but I wrote in reply that few aunts had such a brilliant and
exceptional nephew."
"I felt just the same," I commented, "when Herbert arrived. For a time
people used to say that it cost half a crown to speak to me."
Muriel was silent for a few moments. "I must write to Herbert," she
said.
When nurse left, we formed a syndicate, and my earliest grievance
against the shop was caused by the discovery that some one would have
to be engaged to look after the baby; I was free only in the early
hours and the late hours, and those were periods when the other members
happened to be ready to give their services. Katherine herself could
have remained at home, and she had a desire to do so, but she admitted
to me that loneliness meant grim imaginings of disaster near the
Persian Gulf, and I recognised that work, and nothing else but work,
was necessary to her. So I had to look around for some responsible
woman--not a slip of a girl, and not so advanced in age as Mrs.
Winterton, who had offered to help--and the task of finding one proved
difficult; there were occupations so well paid at the time that few
wanted to engage in domestic tasks. (I declined Mrs. Winterton's
suggestion with a gentleness not, I fear, usual to me; I had an idea
that the old Captain was beginning to shew signs of breaking up, and if
this happened, I knew her hands would be full.) I did, at last, find
a nurse who produced a guardedly-worded testimonial from her latest
employer.
"I'm all right," she said, candidly, "so long as no one gets in my way.
Once that happens, I fly straight off into a rare old fit of temper."
The engagement was made subject to the decision of the bank people.
Katherine wrote, and the reply directed her to call the following
Monday morning; she rehearsed the interview more than once, and
declared her belief that Cummings would prove the one barrier. On the
Sunday, I took the trouble to write to Mr. Cummings a letter, beginning
My dearest Tim, and expressing the fear that he no longer remembered
me, but saying that the note was intended to assure him that, in spite
of the long lapse of time, he was never absent from my thoughts, and
that I remained, now and always, his ever affectionate Daisy. It is not
clear whether my action could be defended on moral grounds, but I did
ascertain from Katherine that she found the recipient of the letter in
a dreamy, slightly absent-minded and quite reasonable state, and that
he handsomely granted her appeal.
"But," he said, gazing hard at the inkstand, "any repetition of the
error will, of course--er--Good morning!"
* * * * *
It was enough to make a woman feel important to note how swiftly
members of her sex filled the vacancies caused by the departure of men.
Mr. Hillier spoke of munition factories at Erith and other places,
where thousands of girls were employed. At Woolwich, the canteens were
run by women. It had long since given no astonishment to see a lady
driving a motor-car; they seemed to do it more easily, less fussily
than did their predecessors. I heard of waitresses in West End clubs,
and of girl letter-sorters in the district Post Offices; I saw, when
business took me to London, high booted, short skirted alert young
women taking 'bus fares; from the kerbs came soprano voices calling
the evening newspapers; lifts in the big shops were managed by smartly
uniformed girls, and one observed them doing outside establishments the
work hitherto performed by commissionaires. Some of my lady customers
were deeply perturbed and shocked.
"It don't do to think what poor old Queen Victoria would have said,"
declared one, mournfully. "Thank Heaven, she wasn't spared to see this
day. If she had been, it would have been the death of her. She'd never
have survived it, dear soul. It's a mercy she was taken off when she
was. Providence knows best."
The great argument with these good folk was that the occupations were
unwomanly; they did not trouble to consider who else there was to do
the work, and I always discovered they were the first to complain
of any slight inconvenience to them created by the war, and full of
indignation against some individuals whom they called the authorities.
The authorities ought to have done this, the authorities should have
done that; it was especially charged against the authorities that they
were lacking in fore-sight, and deficient in the valuable quality of
common sense. The most strenuous critics happened, by a coincidence, to
be those who never contrived to remember whether my early closing day
was Wednesday or Thursday.
I allowed conversation to go on in the shop, partly because one had
all the natural curiosity to pick up any bits of news that were flying
about, mainly because it was worth while that the place should offer
an appearance of traffic. I have often seen people stop, attracted
by the window, crease their features over some of the contents with
a look of perplexity, and then, if the shop were empty, decide upon
postponement and move away; if customers were inside, and there
seemed a likelihood of an article of furniture being on the point of
changing hands, then the shop was entered without delay. I hit upon
the notion--it is improbable that I was the first to think of it--of
placing some desirable arm-chair or attractive cabinet well in the
foreground, and on it a ticket with the word "SOLD." The dodge rarely
failed. Grapes that are out of reach invariably look the sweetest.
"Now could you manage, Miss Weston," it would be said, coaxingly,
"to just write a nice little note to your customer, and say you're
extremely sorry to find a mistake has been made? And send this round to
my house on a hand-cart at once, and it will be there in time to be a
surprise for my husband when he comes home!"
These were, of course, the exceptions. Plenty of my ladies were shrewd
women doing good work with the various societies and associations that
had been started in the borough, and I was rarely tired of hearing
about their experiences, and always ready, I hope, to put my name
down on their subscription lists. London grows kinder year by year,
but there never was a period when amiability was so generally shown;
perhaps there had never been a time when it was so much required. The
need did not consist in money, but in friendliness. There were some who
stood in urgent want of this.
A woman with her two children waited near to my door one day, gazing at
the tram-cars in a bewildered manner. I went out, and asked if I could
be of any assistance.
"I do feel such a looney," she admitted, cheerfully. "To tell you the
truth, ma'am, I've never been out of Greenwich before, and now I've
got to find my way to a railway station up in London. My man's coming
home on leave, and he expects me and the kids to meet him. And we want
to meet him, because if we don't he may come across other friends,
and--Well, you know what soldier chaps are, don't you?"
I read the pencilled note she held in her hand. Millwood was upstairs,
resting his voice. I put on my hat and coat in the back room, and
called out a direction to him.
"I'll pilot you up there," I said, "and look after you until your
husband arrives!"
The children were excited on the journey, wondering what Dad would look
like, and what Dad would bring for them, and how long Dad would be able
to remain at home, and how many Germans Dad had accounted for, and
whether--the great question--whether he would take them to a picture
palace. The woman herself was almost off her head with delight at the
prospect of seeing her husband again. I remember she carried a small
hand-bag with an unreliable catch; it contained all his letters and
post cards, and I should think I rescued it from the floor twenty times.
"Without your help, ma'am," she declared gratefully at the London
station, "I sh'd no more had been able to get here than nothing at all."
The boat train was due in ten minutes; we waited in the crowd near
the barrier, the youngsters dancing about expectantly, and too much
engaged to test the automatic machines. The tallest of us in the crowd
presently saw the engine approaching, and we made the announcement; the
crowd surged to and fro, chuckling and delighted.
"I shall scarcely know him, I expect," said my agitated companion,
"after all these months."
Mud-covered soldiers began to alight from the train ere it stopped;
cries of identification went up from people near to us.
"That's my Jim," she exclaimed. And, contradicting herself, "No, it
ain't. Same height though. This must be him, coming along now. No,"
disappointedly. "That ain't him, neither!"
The men and their friends went off, chattering; the crowd diminished
and the features of those who remained shewed anxiety.
"Anyone here called Mrs. Barford?" inquired a deep voice.
"That's me," whispered my companion. "You go and see what he wants,
miss. I'm too nervous. I'm all of a tremble." I went forward.
"If you are Mrs. Barford," said the Corporal, speaking to me formally
and deliberately, "I regret to have to inform you that your husband
fell down, and died he did, just as we was about to get in the train at
Bailleul. Heart attack probably. I need not say how sorry I am to be
the bearer of bad news." He went off with his wife and son.
I had to take the sad group home to Greenwich, and to give all the
comfort and sympathy I could provide. And wished, with all my heart and
soul, that I had been better fitted for the task.
* * * * *
It was not long ere the new nurse and myself stepped inside the ring.
If she had been an angel from Heaven (which she was not) I should
probably have found some excuse for challenging her; she admitted,
when it was all over, that she found Gloucester Place too quiet for a
person of her disposition, and that she was, when the first discussion
occurred, spoiling for a fight. I had received a visit from William
Richards that afternoon, and a letter from my nephew contained an
enclosure, to which I had been looking forward, from Mrs. Kenningham.
William called to tell me he was married--
"And this I very well know, Mary Weston, means a rumpus so far as me
and you are concerned!"
--Married to a lady hitherto engaged at a railway refreshment counter,
and, as I remarked when he shewed me her photograph on the back of a
postcard, looking it to the life. I assured him there was no objection
so far as I knew, and that I trusted he would be happy; William could
not get rid of the idea that an apology and a full explanation were due
to me, and with some notion of tempering the blow, made an offer for a
bookcase that stood in the shop. Guessing at the motive, I gave many
reasons for declining this. The bookcase was not for sale. I myself
had taken a fancy to it. Two or three customers were making a bid. The
owner had gone abroad, and might return any day. Eventually, William
became so piteous that I insisted on making him a gift of the article.
"Wish you hadn't taken it to heart like this, Mary," he mentioned in
going. "But I suppose gels are more sensitive than what we men are.
They brood over affairs of the kind, and make a grievance of 'em.
Only, don't forget this. You had your chance, and it's no one's fault
but your own that you didn't take advantage of it. I'll send for the
bookcase in a day or two, and thank you kindly."
There was really nothing in this to worry about, but as I went,
after closing the shop, I did feel William might have made a better
selection, and I argued that the chances of his happiness were not
great. At the exit from Gloucester Place to Crooms' Hill I caught
sight of baby's nurse talking to the milkman. I waited until he began
to pull at one of her white cuffs, and then, wondering how grown-up
people could be so stupid, hurried on to the house. Baby was alone,
and crying; he stopped on seeing me and was as right as ninepence in
less than a minute. My lady arrived, and demanded to be told what I was
doing with her child. I gave an answer pretty quickly. One word led to
another, and when Muriel arrived the two of us were having a rare brisk
discussion, hammer and tongs, give and take, such as I had not had a
share in for some time past. Muriel stayed the argument, begged me to
go to my rooms, and settled down for her usual talk with the baby. When
she came up later, I was feeling penitent.
"You are working too hard," she said, firmly, "and unless you go slowly
you'll be ill, Aunt Weston. It's beginning to get on your nerves. We
must see what can be done."
"You don't imagine, my dear, that I'm the kind of woman who will put up
with any interference from other people?"
"Sure it wouldn't be an easy task," she agreed, smiling. "What happened
to-day to put you out?"
She listened to the William Richards incident without great concern.
But when I shewed her the letter that Mrs. Kenningham had written
to Herbert, and the note from him which requested me to call on the
lady, and tell her frankly that he was in no need of affectionate
communications, then Muriel exhibited an energy and a vehemence of
which I had not reckoned her capable. She was willing to accompany me
to Maze Hill, and to go without delay. This style of woman, she said,
forcibly, had to understand once for all that kindness must stop short
of ridiculous infatuation.
We found in the drawing-room of Mrs. Kenningham's house a cabinet
photograph of my nephew; it was set in an expensive silver frame, and
I wondered how many applications the lady had made before obtaining
it. It was gratifying to me, as a wire puller, to notice that Muriel
had not yet managed to suppress her annoyance; she went across to
the pianoforte and, despite my warnings, extracted the photograph.
Underneath were two portraits of other soldiers whose loneliness had
apparently, at an earlier stage, obtained the lady's attention.
"How do you do," said Mrs. Kenningham, entering breathlessly, "and I
hope you are not going to detain me, because one has so much to see to,
and such a quantity of letters to write, for at a period like this it
is everyone's duty--"
"My name is Hillier," said Muriel, calmly. "I am engaged to Lieutenant
Millwood. He has received this preposterous communication from you."
"Oh dear, oh dear," cried the lady, alarmedly, "I am so sorry. I've put
my foot in it this time, and that's a fact. Do hope you'll believe that
my intentions were good."
"Possibly. But your procedure was intensely foolish. Don't let it
happen again."
When we were out of the house--our departure watched by the penitent
Mrs. Kenningham--I asked the girl whether she had spoken the exact and
precise truth.
"Aunt Weston," she answered, "I may have anticipated events slightly;
whatever crime there is in that can be charged against me. But I'm not
going to stand by and see any other woman snatch at him. Let me reply
to his letter."
"Your news, my dear, will make him very happy."
"Been trying all my life to find happiness for myself," she said, "and
I haven't succeeded. Maybe I shall be more fortunate in endeavouring to
give it to somebody else."
* * * * *
We had a great meeting of friends, shortly after this, at Gloucester
Place; so extensive that Mr. Hillier spoke of the drawbacks attendant
on living in a flat, and compared the advantages of a house away from
London. Singing was, by consent, barred. A gentleman belonging to
the music-hall profession had come to live next door, and his habit
of giving a birthday party every Sunday night was not without its
inconveniences; it is only fair to say that when I called on him at the
request of old Mrs. Winterton, he proved as amiable as anyone could be.
"Had no idea," he declared, self reproachfully, "there was anything
like illness about, or else it wouldn't have happened. Say so, won't
you, ma'am, with my compliments. Assure them that, until they give the
word, hospitality is off. The old Captain's honestly ill, is he? Well,
I'm sorry, and I can't say more. I expect the war has been too much for
him. It affects a lot of people who try not to shew it. Here!" He took
me aside. "Between ourselves, I'd give anything for that suit he wears,
if ever he wants to get rid of it. I can assure you it would get me a
roar the very moment I went on."
So that at our gathering we had no music, but there was plenty to talk
about, and my nephew Herbert and Muriel were, to my great delight,
on excellent terms--they had agreed, she told me, to wait until the
war was over--and John was home from his tour, giving imitations
of chairmen he had encountered, and obtaining the aid of Edward in
reckoning the profits; the total when announced by the lad was received
with applause. John's leg still gave trouble: he spoke of the old and
less exacting task of writing songs. Colonel Edgington was there to
play billiards with Mr. Hillier; I took coffee down to the room and
found the two disputing in a manner that reminded me of Chislehurst
days. The Colonel, I gathered, was arguing not for the first time
that he either possessed influence or knew someone who owned it, and
he desired it should be used on behalf of Mr. Hillier; the contention
of Mr. Hillier was that he had every reason to be thankful for the
position he now occupied.
And there was Katherine and her jolly baby. I wish I could describe to
you how fond we all were of the little chap; how relieved I was to find
that his nurse had asked for the day off; what a joy it was to me to
watch him and to help his young mother in looking after him. Katherine
and nurse appeared to get along well enough with each other, but my
antagonism to the girl had in no sense diminished, and as I sat near
the window, looking across the gardens at The Circus, I tried to fix
the details of a plan for getting rid of her, and securing for myself a
greater control over the dear mite. (You will perhaps think that I was
always scheming to get my own way, and you are probably not far wrong.)
"The work at the shop in London Street," I overheard Katherine say to
John, "is telling on her. Do wish she'd give it up."
"Something must be done," said her brother.
"Millwood ought to be able to help," she remarked. "He seems to be a
man of intelligence."
* * * * *
The great wonder to me was that my brother-in-law remained modest,
continued to take the same size in hats. Before the war, he had been
nothing more, so far as the public was concerned, than a minor local
politician, reckoning himself lucky if the _Mercury_ gave his name
amongst a number of others; occasionally it appeared on small bills
that were posted furtively, by enthusiasts in the cause, who knew how
to run a meeting on economical lines. Now and again, when the borough
elections came on, he was in the sunlight for a space, and anyone who
wanted to deal at that time in second-hand furniture, had no chance of
doing business. At a parliamentary election, he was what is called an
organiser.
Now, it appeared that he was necessary to the success of recruiting
meetings, indispensable at all sorts of public occurrences that had
connection with the war. I found a card for a drawing-room reception to
meet Her Royal Highness the Princess Somebody of Something at a house
near Pall Mall; the card announced three speakers, and one of these
was H. Millwood, Esq. The date of the affair happened to be an early
closing afternoon, and I made up my mind to go to town and ascertain
how my brother-in-law comported himself in the presence of the higher
aristocracy. I had seen him amongst the Greenwich people, had heard of
his success with larger audiences elsewhere, but it appeared tolerably
certain that Millwood would make grievous blunders in Carlton House
Terrace.
There was time to spare when I stepped out of the tram-car on the far
side of Westminster Bridge, and in St James's Park I found the lake
still empty; on Horse Guards Parade a band was playing, and recruiting
sergeants conducted sets of newly enlisted to the railway station; near
The Mall and just inside the railings, a row of buildings had been set
up for Admiralty work, and cars with staff officers, and navy men,
hurried to and fro. There was no forgetting here that a war was going
on. At the house mentioned on the invitation card, I hesitated. The
ladies going in appeared distinguished (I recognised some from their
portraits in the illustrated dailies), they were handsomely dressed,
and I feared I might be stopped in the hall and called upon to answer
searching questions. A dowdily-garbed woman came in at the carriage
way, and I followed her. The footman inside the doorway bowed as he
took her card.
"Has the meeting started yet?"
"Not yet, Your Grace," answered the footman.
I was sufficiently flustered to put, in a parrot-like way, the same
question, and the man was well trained enough to give me the same kind
of answer. At the foot of the broad staircase, another polite attendant
asked us to ascend, and on the landing everyone was being announced to
and received by the lady of the house.
"Miss Weston!" called the man. The lady of the house shook hands,
pleasantly, said it was exceedingly good of me to find time to come,
urged me to take a seat without delay.
"There will be a crowd," she remarked, contentedly. In a side room, I
could see Millwood in his blue reefer suit chatting with a young woman
who seemed about twice his height.
The ball room was, on one side, of irregular shape, and I managed to
discover a corner, where, from a gilded chair I could watch without
being seen. A small raised platform had been fixed; the windows looked
out on the Park and Government offices. About me, as the room filled
and the rows of chairs became occupied, the talk was of the war and its
progress, or the need for its progress. One could not help observing,
once more, that the appetite for rumours, fresh and seasonable and
tasty, was as keen in the west as in the south-east of London.
The Chairman entered escorting H.R.H. (she was the tall young woman
with whom I had seen Millwood chatting). We stood up. H.R.H. placed
her bouquet of flowers on the table where there stood a silver tray,
and a glass jug (that I should have liked to buy) and tumblers. A
well-known actor-manager, a notable Judge, and Millwood followed. The
audience sat down, made itself comfortable, and assumed the look of
calm resignation that is appropriate when a flood of talk has to be
expected. The Chairman opened with compliments to H.R.H. and, declaring
that the speakers of the afternoon would save him the trouble of
explaining the proposals of the new Association, went on to describe
these in full detail. At the end of twenty minutes, he called upon
the Judge. The Judge said the Chairman had given all the information
that was necessary, and his own talk would therefore be simple and
brief; he took twenty-five minutes to repeat, in slightly varied
words, the speech of the Chairman. When the actor-manager advanced
to the edge of the small platform, we all bent forward eagerly and
hopefully; it seemed likely that here would be something to break
the steady and persistent dulness. The actor-manager, with fine
declamation and admirable gesture, started with an epigram that missed
fire; my own view was that, by an oversight, he offered it upside
down, and thus robbed it of pungency. Discouraged by this (and by the
circumstance that he could not make out his notes excepting by the
aid of spectacles, which he had decided not to wear) the actor-manager
contented himself by echoing the statements and arguments already made.
"As you, my lord, have so truly remarked, and as my learned friend, if
I may so call him, has so admirably suggested--"
I glanced about to discover a chance of getting away; an elderly lady
of great proportions in the next chair, was now well asleep, and to
arouse her would have produced a commotion.
"Your Royal Highness," announced the Chairman. "I call upon Mr.
Millwood."
My brother-in-law came forward, one hand in the pocket of his jacket.
He gave a rather awkward bow to H.R.H., nodded to the Chairman.
"This is a deuce and all of a rummy affair!" he said. The sentence
seemed to box the ears of the jaded audience; everybody became alert;
the stout old lady next to me woke up. "When you come to think it over,
I mean. Before August, nineteen fourteen, you ladies and gentlemen
knew nothing about me and cared less, and what I thought of you isn't
worth mentioning. And here we are to-day, all friends. All chums. All
brothers and sisters. All regarding one another with a real and vurry
sincere affection. And why is it? Why, because we've been attacked,
without any warning, by a bully that wants to murder our men, women and
children, and whose aim it is to wipe us off the face of the earth."
Millwood jerked around suddenly, and spoke with deliberation. "He ain't
a-going to be allowed to do it!" The cheering came for the first time;
loud cheering, and long. "Out there, just now, on the 'Orse Guards
Parade, I spoke to a young chap who was going forward to the tent where
they're jotting down the names of recruits. He appeared not much more
than a boy, and I took the liberty of speaking to him. I says, 'My lad,
what induces you to leave your good mother, and go and join the army?'
And he says, 'It's just because I've got a good mother, that I'm going
to fight on her behalf,' he says."
It is impossible for me to describe the way in which Millwood gripped
and held those people. Set down in writing, there would appear to be
little in his homely anecdotes, his ordinary illustrations, his touches
of domestic pathos. What I do assure you is that at one moment the folk
were laughing, and at the next they were in tears; the great virtue
of the speech seemed to me that it finished within ten minutes, and
I joined with the rest in making the ineffectual appeal of "Go on!"
Once or twice he had made adventures into the alliterative manner, and
these were his only errors. In the room downstairs where the visitors
took tea and coffee, and I had the opportunity of inspecting furniture,
everyone was asking for Mr. Millwood. The lady of the house regretted
he had somehow taken his departure, unobserved by her.
That evening, when Millwood returned to London Street, I asked how he
had got on at the afternoon meeting.
"Moderately fairly well," he replied. "Can't say more than that!"
* * * * *
Millwood and I came into collision, and each showed an irritability
over the incident not usual with either of us. My own idea is that my
brother-in-law's manner was responsible. He bounced into the shop one
morning when the rain was pelting down, and spattering up from the
pavement; he was in the habit of taking great credit to himself for
never carrying an umbrella, and on this occasion he was without an
overcoat. His first act, the swinging to and fro of his wet bowler hat,
caused me to speak sharply.
"You needn't worry," he said. "I'm coming back here. I'm going to
take charge again. They tell me I've nearly wore out my welcome, so
far as the public is concerned--getting too refined in my manner, or
something--and my name will once more appear above the shop windows."
"Have you been breaking the pledge?" I asked.
"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "Otherwise I sh'd be in a better
temper than what I find myself. I've come 'ere, to have a straight talk
with you, I have, Mary Weston."
"You'll probably get a straight talk in return. What do you mean by
this nonsense about coming back?"
"When you took the shop over," he said, deliberately, "it was
understood I was free to return and take possession whenever I felt
disposed so to do."
"Have you any proof of that?"
"Got it in my inside pocket now. A letter, or note, or communication
in your own handwriting. Contents of the place to be valued by some
independent authority unless the figure could be agreed on between us."
"I'd forgotten about that," I admitted. "But, in any case, it isn't
worth the paper it's written on."
"How do you make that out?"
"Go and consult a solicitor," I retorted, bluffing. "He'll tell you, in
half a jiffy, that you've no legal claim. Now be off, and don't bother
me with your nonsense any longer."
"If there's going to be any consulting of solicitors," he declared,
"it's you that had best do it."
When one is dealing with an obstinate, pig-headed man, serious argument
is of no use. I tried a more appealing way, but Millwood shook his
head, and said I was wasting my breath. I remarked that I knew a well
qualified and highly reasonable legal gentleman up in London who could
give wise advice on the subject, and Millwood, after some discussion,
went so far as to agree that he would accept Mr. Cartwright's decision.
Millwood wrote out a copy of the letter I had been foolish enough to
give to him some eighteen months or more earlier.
"Be a sport," he warned me. "Shew him this, and tell him everything in
a truthful manner, and come back here, and tell me what he says. I'll
look after the shop until you return."
My Quartermaster-Sergeant's brother was busy, and, in his office could
give me no more than five minutes: he placed a watch on the table to
make sure that this period was not exceeded. Before I had time to state
the case fully or to produce the copy of the note, he stopped me.
"You must give up possession," he said, definitely, "at the end of the
current week. Good-bye! Thorough April weather, isn't it?"
I could not help suspecting that my friends--little Mr. Cartwright
included--were just now associated in a design to control and guide my
career.
* * * * *
Something that looked like an opportunity for dealing with the
conspiracy against me came when young Pinnock, of a shop over the
way in London Street, went before the Tribunal. There were always
establishments to let in the thoroughfare, but I had fixed an eye on
Pinnock's because of its special build and expansive windows; I could
see there a business under my control that would be in opposition to
Millwood, in more senses than one. (I fancy there was some idea, at the
back of my head, that I was a piece of machinery which could not risk
the danger of stopping lest it should be reckoned of no use, and find
itself thrown upon the scrap heap.)
Young Pinnock was of the very few who declared openly a resolve to
take no part in the war; he had a thousand and more arguments, and
the important one, which he repeated at his doorway, and occasionally
shouted across the street, was that the trouble on the continent of
Europe was not of his making. This we had guessed, but it did not
prevent us from saying that young Pinnock ought to take his share as
the rest were doing; that he constituted an undesirable example to
youths who were growing up, that the drill would make a man of him,
and perhaps induce some girl to offer her admiration. Pinnock found a
new contention, each day, to support his attitude, and when he caught
sight of my brother-in-law, rushed out to present it; Millwood was
always able to knock the suggestion over with no trouble, and the
youth returned to his shop to ponder, and to build up a fresh one.
He exhibited an air of great confidence one evening on producing the
statement that his mother had begged and prayed of him not to enlist,
declaring that his departure was likely to be followed immediately by
retirement to a bed which she would never leave.
"Give me her address," said Millwood, curtly, "and I'll give the old
gel a look in."
"I don't profess that I'm giving you her exact and actual words, Mr.
Millwood."
"My lad," remarked my brother-in-law, "what reelly keeps you back is
not your mother, or any other relative. It's yourself. When the war is
over, you ought to have the Humane Society Medal."
"What for, Mr. Millwood?"
"For saving your own life. And don't worry me with the subject again.
If there had been many like you, we should have had the Germans here by
now. I've got no patience with your sort."
"Wish somebody had," complained young Pinnock. "My difficulty is to get
people to listen to common sense."
It proved that his mother was, in fact, anxious that he should go; it
happened that she was the only parent in her road at Charlton who had
not made some contribution to the services, and she declared that her
position was not to be envied. Pinnock tried, later, the plea that if
he joined up, the shop would close (Millwood said the world was not
likely to come to an end on account of this), that there were texts
in the Bible supporting his attitude (Millwood, as a new and careful
reader, was able to produce some war-like quotations from the Old
Testament), also that his principles would not allow him to take life,
(Millwood remarked that the possession of a rifle, and the sight of a
Prussian aiming a bomb, would modify these views.) Finally, and before
appearing at the Tribunal, young Pinnock announced his intention of
arguing that he had no right to set his own existence in danger. That,
he said, was the point. Life was entrusted to us as a high and sacred
charge, and any man who, wilfully and with his eyes open, exposed it to
peril was to all intents and purposes committing suicide and deserving
of the blame the law could give. Nothing but an unsound mind, argued
young Pinnock, and this he in no way claimed, excused the act. Indeed,
he described himself as a thinker; one who refrained from borrowing
views from other people, preferring to make his own.
"And I'd like you to come along, Mr. Millwood, and hear me argue the
question in front of these gentlemen, because I've got the notion that
I shall be more successful with them than what I've been with you."
"No special treat to me," said Millwood, "to see a chap make a fool of
hisself."
"But I owe you something," urged the young man, "for inducing me to
give up arguments that wouldn't hold water. Thanks to you, I've got one
now that's absolutely without a flaw. Shouldn't wonder if my case gets
reported in the evening papers. I feel absolutely confident it'll make
a sensation."
Millwood and I were not on too friendly terms at the moment, but he
told me, on his return from the court, all that had happened, and told
it in the dramatic way that a man of his type can adopt in describing
an incident which has affected the imagination deeply. Of young Pinnock
entering the room with a determined air--"He would have stuck his
chin out," said Millwood, "only that he hadn't got one!"--of being
directed to take a seat, and finding himself disconcerted by this; the
rehearsals apparently had always been taken in an upright position.
Of Pinnock recovering gradually powers of speech and gesture, and
proceeding to declaim his views on the sanctity of human life, and more
especially the duty of every man to preserve his own life, in a way
that made the members of the court--exhausted as they were by attending
to appeals on a variety of grounds, and sometimes on no grounds at
all--listen with care. Of the Chairman presently stopping the applicant
with the remark that the case had been put forward with conspicuous
ability; the Court would give its decision later in the day, and
announce then whether any exemption could be granted.
Of young Pinnock leaving the room, and going out of the building in a
great state of exaltation, talking to folk he met, and--on the edge of
the pavement, still propounding his views--being run into by a small
boy on a scooter. Of poor Pinnock staggering under the unexpected
collision, and trying to recover himself, and not succeeding, and
falling into the roadway as a motor-car dashed along.
The shop was closed on the day of the inquest, and remained closed,
but some feeling of superstition prevented me from making any effort
to secure it. The incident, small in comparison with the large events
which were happening, touched me. And I could understand and sympathise
with the remark that the mother made.
"I should have felt a lot happier," she said, wistfully, "if my boy had
been killed on the field of battle!"