HELEN ARRIVES
Phil enclosed his father's cablegram in a letter to the vicar of
Truckleford, which was answered by a telegram reminding him that he was
expected "home" very soon. With only thirty-six hours which he could
call his own before he reported for duty, he set out by the early
afternoon train. He had bought all the textbooks of gunnery that he
could find in the shops, and had sat up cramming the previous night.
Four of them were in his bag and one was under his arm, along with some
magazines that he had bought at the stall, as he followed the porter
down the platform of the station.
His recollection of all that had happened since he had taken that same
train two months ago was startled by one of the associations of the
first journey in the life entering a compartment just ahead of him.
Helen Ribot, too, was going to Truckleford. He wondered how he should
interpret her start, with its long-drawn "Oh!" at sight of him; but she
hastened to make her own interpretation when she had recovered from her
surprise.
"It's the first time I've been down," she said, "and I'm going only for
a day, as I'm very busy and living regularly in London, now."
There was a cheery tone of independence in the closing statement, for
statement it was. In the midst of war Miss Helen Ribot had made her
own start in the world. Then some commonplaces. Yes, her mother was
still at Truckleford and Henriette with her. Both were well. Had he
heard from home? Yes, it looked as if the Germans had made a decided
stand on the Aisne.
"I see that you are prepared to read. So am I," she concluded
pleasantly, as she took a book out of her bag.
Puzzled by this new Helen, so poised and affable but somehow
uncousinly, there was nothing to do but follow her suggestion. As he
turned the leaves of one of the big illustrated weeklies he noted
something so distinctively familiar with the first glance at the double
page, that he would have recognised a single figure of the drawing of
the Germans in retreat from the Marne, without having the confirmation
of Helen Ribot's signature in the lower right-hand corner.
"Caught!" he exclaimed triumphantly, as he turned the page about and
held it up before her. "The fell secret of Mervaux revealed to the
public at large! Congratulations!"
Helen lowered her head, flushing at this accusing broadside of
publicity staring her in the face, while he was as happy as if the
picture were his own.
"It's corking!" he said.
"Yes, the agent liked it, and he has sold others, too," she said,
looking up, the magic of the whole business in her eyes. "And they
want more. Think of that! And the agent is going to send them to
America and thinks that they will sell there!"
It would be false to say that Helen was over set-up with her success;
but she was human. Better, that double page was a token of freedom
earned and gained. Henceforth, she could be herself.
"Cartoons, too!" she added, when she saw how interested he was. "They
particularly want cartoons, some of the editors. I did a series of
that old von Stein after I showed the one of you knocking von Eichborn
down."
"Good heavens! You----" Would print it, he was going to say, but
broke off, for she was laughing in a way that saved him from gulping
down the bait.
"But I'm not going to sell any cartoons unless I need to in order to
pay the rent. I mean, it spoils the fun I get out of them."
"So we are earning our own living, now," he said. His admiration was
transparent. He had earned his and knew what it meant to get a start.
Helen nodded.
"I've got forty pounds already to go with the thousand francs. Let's
see, that is almost four hundred dollars in American money! I'm a
proud wage-earner and even consider becoming a bloated bond-holder!"
She was smiling and laughing all the time, this changed, this free
Helen, still uncousinly, a person apart, and buoyantly happy--until she
caught a glimpse of herself in the small panel mirror opposite. Then
her features relaxed.
"And you?" she asked, putting out her hand for her book, which she had
laid on the seat. "Have you got passage back to America yet?"
"No. I----" And he told her briefly what he had done.
With the very announcement, the mirror warning and another warning
which sprang from the memory of the scene under the tree at Mervaux
were forgotten in the impulse which made her lean across the aisle in
passionate interest.
"It was like you!" she exclaimed. "The old father and mother at home,
what did they say?" She wanted to know all about it. "And Peter
Smithers?" she added.
"Not heard from yet," Phil replied. "It's surprising how you recollect
Peter."
"I'd like to make a cartoon of Peter; I don't know why, for I've never
heard a dozen sentences about him. And in the artillery! Then you'll
be doing the sort of thing we watched the _soixante-quinze_ doing at
Mervaux. And you're a real sub-lieutenant! Aren't you proud?"
"Oh, fit to burst!"
"And you will be ordering people about and others will be ordering you
about," she continued, returning to the mischievous vein. "I shall
have to make another cartoon of how our newest subaltern looked to
himself the first time he had on his uniform and how he felt when the
general came to inspect his battery for the first time."
Just then it occurred to Helen that she had talked enough; but it had
not occurred to her to tell him that she had put her name down on a
list which would ensure her wearing a uniform and working in a
hospital--she who dreaded the sight of blood. No, this was her
business. Now she took up her book again with a sense of relief, and
settled well down in the corner of the seat, as if to make herself as
small as possible. She held the book well up, her lowered lashes just
showing above the cover's edge.
Phil glanced up from his artillery cramming at times to find her still
reading, or, if she were looking away from the page, it was out of the
window, unconscious of his presence. At such moments her eyes would
open wide as some object interested her vividly, most vividly for an
instant, seeing pictures, making pictures, always. A fine nobility
about the forehead; indeed, a beautiful forehead, with its rich, dark
eyebrows under the crowning glory of the hair that seemed to hold the
particles of sunlight that filtered through the glass, and small,
delicately-shaped ears set close to the head. There was more in that
head than he had ever guessed. Only a small part of its infinite
variety came out of the fingers' ends on to white paper.
Why he did not know, but the scene under the tree came into his mind.
Her abounding sense of humour could not resist the trick when he was
making that serious, patternlike lover's speech which he swore he would
never make again in the same way. She had had the best of many jokes
on him, whether the irresistible mood of mischief possessed her to make
a cartoon or to draw him gazing lovelorn into Henriette's face. For it
had not occurred to him what she thought must be so palpable--the true
character of that "Yes," which excoriated her whenever she was with him
alone.
He glanced at the drawing on the open page at his side, took it up to
look at it again, amazed afresh at its quality and atmospheric reality,
and put it down without attracting her attention. She was happy; she
had succeeded in the one thing she cared for. It was pleasant to be
there opposite her in her triumph on this September day, flying past
English hedges, thinking of many things, including the destiny that had
sent him to Europe on a holiday to become a soldier; and it was with a
touch of regret that he noted a landmark which told him that the train
was drawing into Truckleford. She slipped the book back in her bag and
the face he saw was that of the plain Helen, singularly dull and
lifeless till she drew a sigh and in her eyes appeared a peculiar
light, as she explained:
"Here we are at last!"
Mrs. Sanford, as well as the vicar and Henriette, was on the platform
to welcome him; but Madame Ribot had found the weather quite too warm
for walking. Henriette waved her hand as she smiled her welcome when
the train ran past them. The vicar took Phil's hand in his and held it
affectionately in a long clasp; and Mrs. Sanford flushed when he kissed
her.
"We are very proud!" she murmured. "But we fear that we have done
wrong in not trying to prevent it."
"But his father said 'Yes, by Jehovah!'" put in the vicar. He did not
tell Phil that he was having that telegram framed to hang under the
portrait of the ancestor.
Henriette and Helen were left to follow, as the vicar and his wife took
possession of Phil.
"Oh, we've heard all about it from Henriette!" said Mrs. Sanford.
"And--and I must confess that what I particularly liked was the way
that you knocked that beast of a Prussian down."
"Yes," said the vicar, stiffening out of his usual stoop and stopping.
"But what was it? I am very curious. Er--I boxed a little myself when
I was young. Just a straight lead with the right?"
"No," said Phil, turning and holding up his finger at Henriette. "I've
a bone to pick with you for telling!"
"Later!" she smiled back.
"If not a straight lead with the right, what was it?" persisted the
vicar.
"An upper cut to the jaw!" Phil murmured awkwardly.
"Very effectual, always!" replied the vicar. "Now, he was standing
about like this, and you ducked like this to let his blow by?"
"My dear, this is positively shocking!" gasped his wife, mindful that
they were in the village street at the time.
"Then you gave it to him like this----" and there the vicar of
Truckleford brought his fist up in correct fashion and pressed it
against the correct section of Phil's physiognomy. "Exactly!" he
concluded, chuckling. "I remember once I used it in a little
row--before I had taken orders, my dear, before I had taken orders!"
When they turned in at the vicarage gate they found Madame Ribot at
ease on a lawn chair in the shade near the tea-table, looking as
charming as usual and with a novel on her lap as usual.
"Now I may thank you in person for the part of a brave gentleman that
you have played!" she said to Phil in her delightful way. "And you, my
truant Helen, you've found time to come and see your mother, too," she
added, as she embraced Helen.
"But have you seen this?" demanded Phil when all were seated around the
tea-table. "We have a distinguished person with us. I had the honour
of riding down in the train with her from London--with none other than
that celebrated artist who is now sipping tea out of a cup just like
any everyday person."
He held up the double page for all to see. Helen continued to look
into her teacup as they passed the picture around.
"Very timely! Just what the editors wanted," said Henriette. "I'm so
glad, Helen!"
Madame Ribot seemed most surprised of all at the actuality of the
thing. She drew a long breath of realising satisfaction.
"And you did this in the midst of all that shellfire, you poor dear--I
mean----" exclaimed Mrs. Sanford.
"Oh, I don't mind being called poor dear!" said Helen in a soft,
impersonal way. "What a bad-tempered person I have been!" she added.
The vicar rose from his chair and went over to Helen, taking her hand
in his and patting her on the head. In his heart he had ever been as
fond of Helen as had General Rousseau, though fondness for Helen was
not the fashion among the friends of the Ribots. A little success had
made her almost important.
"And the shell that hit between us, did you hear about that?" Phil went
on.
"No," said the vicar. "Henriette didn't mention that. What about it?
We heard how Helen fainted when she saw the wounded soldier."
"No fainting this time--a coal box, bang in our faces! I thought that
our artist was gone forever."
"If you keep this up," said Helen, "you will make people think that it
was I who was the hero of the movies and knocked the villain down; and
in that event I shall have to publish the cartoon of you doing it as
documentary evidence to the contrary. Beware of the power of the
press!"
He had won one of her laughs and a full tilt of challenge from her eyes.
"And who cried good and clapped her hand?" he asked.
"The assembled hero-worshipping multitude!" she replied.
For the moment in their banter they had taken possession of the
conversation. Suddenly Helen realised it. She had been teased and she
was giving him as good as he sent. The smile died on her lips; the
flame out of her eyes. She was plain Helen drinking tea in silence and
wishing that she was not there. When her mother made some remark, she
slipped away into the house and out by a side entrance into the lane,
glad to be alone.
It had all passed by the ears of the vicar and his wife as young
people's nonsense, pleasant to hear. These two could think of only one
thing: the fact of Phil's presence; the fact that there was a Sanford
to fight for the cause.
As he turned to Henriette, Madame Ribot was watching, while pretending
to look at the pictures in the weekly. She wanted to know the effect
of the ten days which they had spent at the chateau together. Scarcely
perceptible the set frown on her brow, which was only erased when an
automobile stopped at the gate. Madame Ribot liked the low purring of
costly motors. It was as rich and delectable to her as the rustling of
silk.
The Marquis of Truckleford had come to see the vicar about Belgian
refugee plans and other war work, which, for the first time in weeks,
had not been the principal topic of conversation at the vicarage
tea-table. Phil was not used to meeting marquises; few work on
construction gangs in the Southwest or are seen in New England
villages. He did not know how you "My Lorded" or "Your Graced" them,
or whatever it was, or how often; but he talked to the Marquis without
self-consciousness, just as he would to any other human being, and the
results seemed quite satisfactory. The Marquis inquired about the
identity of the general whom Phil had seen at the War Office.
"So Duggy made you a second lieutenant!" said the Marquis. "Sound
chap! So, so! I'll write a letter about you to Starrow, who is a peg
above Duggy. Must say I liked the way that you knocked that Hun down.
The vicar and I were puzzled. What was it, a straight lead with the
right?"
"No, an upper cut, like this!" interrupted the vicar, giving another
exhibition of how it was done.
"Just as I said from the start!" declared His Lordship. "Pleased the
old chap in the frame in the dining-room, wouldn't it?"