"Not yet, my dear." The voice from the bed was calm and quiet. "We must
let bygones be bygones. The times has changed."
She was glad to hear him say that. And she had not told him yet of her
father's recent act of reparation. Should she tell him now? Was the
moment favorable? Or had she better wait until----
The question, however, was already decided. Too late to tell him now.
The door at the other end of the room was open and the Commandant had
entered followed by his worship the Mayor.
"Only one bed in this room, sir," said the Commandant. "A special case.
Corporal Hollis."
The Mayor looked calmly round. He didn't see Melia who was hidden by a
screen between the bedstead and the door. "I notice, ma'am, you've got
another door yonder." He pointed to the other end of the room. "Hope
these new casements fit well."
The new casements fitted very well indeed.
"All the same,"--the deep voice was very much that of the man of
affairs--"I expect you get a bit of draught here when the wind blows
from the northeast."
The draught was nothing to speak of, he was assured.
"Any complaints? Heating apparatus all right? Ventilators working
properly?"
There were no complaints to make of any kind.
"Thank you, ma'am," said the Mayor. "You can leave me here alone a few
minutes with Corporal Hollis--if he's well enough to talk to me."
The Commandant retired, closing the door after her, and the Mayor
slowly approached the bed.
"How are you, Bill?" It was a tone of simple, hearty kindness.
Before the occupant of the bed could answer the question, Josiah,
coming round the corner of the screen, was taken aback by the sight
of his eldest daughter. He was not prepared for her, yet he was quite
equal to the situation. "Hulloa, Melia"--it was a father's cordiality.
"How are you, gel? Happy Christmas to you. Happy Christmas to you both."
For a little while he stood talking to them, easily and without
constraint, while the Corporal lay in his bed saying nothing, but with
his worn face softened by pain and service and the thought of others.
From time to time he smiled grayly at the Mayor's pungent humor. Even
in the old days "the Mester" had always had a liberal share of that
quality in which his fellow townsmen excelled. Josiah's sense of humor
was very keen, particularly when it came to assessing the shortcomings
of other people; it had a breadth, a gusto, a penetration which high
office seemed to amplify. His stories, comments, criticisms of those
prominently before the world kept the Corporal quietly amused for some
time. Finally, the Mayor looked at his watch. "I must be getting on,"
he said. "I've got to address the War Workers' Association at six
o'clock. And at seven I've promised to look in at the Hearts of Oak
annual soiree and concert."
Very simply and with the manliness that was part of him he held out
his hand. Without hesitation the Corporal took it. They looked in the
eyes of one another. "I hope you're quite comfortable," said Josiah.
"If there's anything you need you have only to let me know. So long,
my boy, and don't be in a hurry to get well. See you to-morrow, Melia.
Wish you could have brought Bill along with you. Happy Christmas."
With a wave of the hand for them both the Mayor went away, exuding an
atmosphere of kindness and goodwill towards all men except Germans. In
the Mayor's opinion Germans were not men at all.