PETER SMITHERS IN ACTION
Two white heads bent over the tombstones in the cemetery at Truckleford
and talked genealogy; two white heads strolled on the lawn and had
tilts in theology, or sat in the library and discussed English and
American viewpoints. The vicar of Truckleford believed in a State
church, while Dr. Sanford held that this meant mixing religion and
politics, which was a bad business. Sanford of England, who had cheeks
ruddy from the moist climate, brought his sentences to a close with a
rising inflection; and Sanford of New England had a dry complexion,
with sharp little wrinkles around his eyes, and brought his sentences
to a close with a falling inflection. They seemed a trifle strange to
each other at times, though they were speaking the same language; and
either would have been highly complimented if you had told him that you
recognised him for the Englishman or the American he was at once? They
rambled from philosophy to politics, from scientific versus classical
education to the future of humanity generally, rich in words and ideas
if not in money.
Then, two other white heads pottered about the flower and kitchen
gardens, both clicking their knitting needles industriously for
soldiers the while. In England, roses were not often frost-killed or
burned by the hot sun of summer, which brightened the sunflower and the
goldenrod fringeing the roadsides with yellow in autumn at home. Two
white heads discussed the servant problem in both countries; and
England thought it pretty bad at home until she heard of the state of
affairs in America. It was the particular care of the two English
heads, plotting together in their nightly conferences, that the
American cousins should feel at home when English facility in this
respect, however insular and offish the islanders may seem abroad,
requires no calculation.
The visit at last come true had the aspect of romance under the
circumstances. It required a certain amount of courage for Dr. and
Mrs. Sanford to cross the Atlantic in the midst of submarine activity
quite in keeping with ancestral Pilgrim daring in crossing in the
seventeenth century. From Jane came an occasional letter on the state
of affairs in Longfield. "Things can't be right personally with you
away," she wrote. "I am getting too fat and lazy for words. But
things exteriorly, as Phil would say when he got hifalutin, are just
the same. Garden doing fine except the cauliflowers, which look
peaked; but they will pick up, Patrick says, as cauliflowers have a way
of looking peaked and ragged before they get a start. No hyphenates
and few potato bugs in Longfield this year. I put up thirty jars of
currant jelly and it looks licking good. That is more than you can
eat; but sure, unless you change your habits, it isn't more than you
can give away. I expect you're putting your shoes outside your door
every morning to be blacked, like the lords do. Well, when you come
home you will find the blacking-brush in the same old place and that
Jane has not changed. I am writing a letter to Phil himself. With
best regards,
"Your truly, JANE."
There was one subject which knit the cousinship of the four ever
closer--Phil. The local postmaster was convinced that there was no
danger of one officer starving, if soldiers could live on cake, judging
by the number of packages which went through the parcels post to Second
Lieutenant Philip Sanford. Their thoughts were those of hundreds of
thousands of other households in England. The pride of it for the
vicar and his wife was that they, too, had a son at the front. They
would not waive the claim that he was partly theirs and their guests
did not ask it. Every day they wrote to Phil, and his cheerful letters
in answer, always making sport of the mud and minimising the
dangers--long letters when the battery was in billets--brought the four
heads into communion of spirit whenever the envelopes arrived. Always
there was the fear--the fear over hundreds of thousands of households,
no less poignant in each because of the hundreds of thousands of
others--the fear which they never mentioned and never forgot.
The postman brought Helen's letter, the only one in the post that trip,
to Dr. Sanford when he was alone on the lawn, thinking that a point had
occurred to him which would give him the better of the argument with
the vicar the next time they resumed a certain discussion. After he
had opened the envelope and read the first sentence, he folded the
sheet and walked away into the garden to be undisturbed. He must think
how to break the news to his wife.
"This time Cousin Phil is not writing to you himself, but I am writing
for him," Helen wrote. "Though I have never seen you, it seems as if I
knew you and I think, as Phil's father and mother, you are the kind who
might suffer more in the end if some of the truth were held back by
clever phrases than if it were all told at first. He loves you so much
and you love him so much that it is the only honest way.
"He is as whole as ever in body, his mind quite clear, despite the
wound in his jaw from a shell-fragment; but he must remain here at the
hospital for many months, while a miracle man of a surgeon will make
his jaw as good as ever. As the result of shell-shock he is also, for
the moment, both blind and deaf; but other miracle men will bring back
his sight and hearing. All the great ones are prepared to spoil him
with attention, he is so brave.
"As he cannot write himself, I shall write for him every day. But you
must not be impatient; as these modern miracle men, unlike the Biblical
ones, must take time to perform their wonders. Write him as many
letters as you can and I'll spell out every word of them to him. Yes,
go on writing just as if he were making a fight at the front and that
will help him in the new fight he is making in the dark against pain
and for you. When he returns he will be the same as when he left you,
only dearer to you as you will be to him. He will recover completely.
Depend on this."
"Brave little liar!" as Bricktop had said. Yet Helen believed every
word.
Dr. Sanford continued to walk up and down after he had finished the
letter. Mrs. Sanford, coming out of doors and seeing him, knew that
something had happened to Phil, though the Doctor looked only
customarily thoughtful and calm. She went toward him, followed by the
vicar and his wife; they, too, divining from her attitude that tragedy
had come to Truckleford.
"I am ready! What is it?" asked Mrs. Sanford.
He read the letter aloud, thinking that this would soften the message
for her. She listened with a white face and still eyes. When he had
finished she took his hands in hers; then in silence the two started
walking up and down, arm in arm. Two other white heads in the
background, quite as if it were their son, also walked up and down, arm
in arm. Silent, very silent, the garden, except for the occasional hum
of a bee.
The mother was looking the worst fairly in the face, with
characteristic fearlessness.
"We have a little money--enough if----" If Phil should be in the
eternal night they could care for him, was the first thought of her
love. But after they were gone----
The other two white heads were thinking the same. Phil had done this
for their cause. They had a little money; he should not want. When,
finally, the first two came toward the vicar, he was suddenly mindful
that Helen had written the letter; rather than Henriette--which was
very odd.
"She would state all the truth, Helen would," said the vicar. "It's
her merit. She could not help doing so. When she says that Phil will
be as right as ever again, you may depend upon it."
"We do!" said Phil's mother. "He will get well! He must! We'll not
think anything else. He will!" There was a quiet, tense vitality in
her declaration akin to Helen's own.
"He will!" said Dr. Sanford.
"That sounds better," said the vicar. "It is worthier of the ancestors
and Phil."
"We must go to him!" said the mother.
The next morning this pair of old children set out, holding hands in
the compartment a good portion of the way to London. Cities always
confused Dr. Sanford. Only the call to his son would have given him
courage to enter the portals of that sombre War Office, which was only
one of many doors whence he took his plea.
Every one was sorry and kindly, too, when they looked over the old
clergyman and he told his tale. If they let one parent go to a great
hospital in the military zone in France, then they would have to let
thousands; but one official, with a sly wink, suggested that he get a
note from his Ambassador. Going to the Embassy simply as an American
gentleman, without any letters of introduction, he waited in the
reception-room a long time till somebody returned from luncheon; and
the somebody, who was a young person with a Burke's Peerage under his
arm, said that it was quite out of the question for the Embassy to
interest itself in his case.
"It's the rules, I suppose," said Mrs. Sanford.
"Yes. We can't go behind the rules," said the Doctor.
It was a sad journey for the old children back to Truckleford and their
hand-clasp was tighter than before as they looked out at the hedges
slipping by. Awaiting them were letters from Helen, long letters, less
matter-of-fact than the first one, with a chant of optimism running
through the sentences; and a telegram from Peter Smithers, who had
arrived at Liverpool and was coming to see them.
Automobiles were difficult of hire in England then; yet Peter arrived
in one, a high-powered one at that. How could he travel by train when
he was on the verge of poverty from keeping up that miserable little
farm? The way he came through the gate heralded a dynamic advent at
the vicarage.
"Glad to meet you, sir, and you, too, Mrs. Sanford!" he said. "Suppose
you four have all the ancestors looked up and card-indexed by this
time. And what about Phil? Still wallowing in the mud for the
pleasure of being shot at? What!"
The look in all four faces drew a sharp, penetratingly anxious
exclamation from him.
"Tell me!" he demanded, and the whole aspect of the man had changed in
an instant. "Tell me!"
He dropped in a chair at the news; but no sooner was he down than he
jumped up, jerking a cigar out of his pocket and chewing at it as he
began pacing back and forth with pounding steps.
"Bricktop can do it if anybody can!" he said excitedly. "I'd back
Bricktop against anybody or anything! Bricktop over there operating on
Phil! It's a small world. Bricktop will do it; and if there aren't
specialists over there big enough to bring back Phil's sight and
hearing, we'll get them, by George!" Peter took another turn, chewing
at his cigar, and then whirled around. Decision was in his eyes and in
every one of the definite wrinkles of his face. "I know what you've
been thinking--if the worst should happen!"
"Yes, we had!" admitted Mrs. Sanford.
"But it won't, not to Phil! He'll pull out. George! I'd have given a
thousand to have seen him knock that Prussian down! Whatever happens,
I want you to know that all I have is back of him and every cent I
have, if that farm doesn't break me, goes to him--and there's three
millions, anyway."
Let it be recorded that the effect of this sudden declaration on four
white heads was indescribable, particularly on the vicar and his wife,
who had a feeling that they were witnessing some sort of a
Christmas-time extravaganza. Phil's mother said that it was quite in
keeping with Peter's reputation for making vital decisions promptly.
At the same time she only gasped, "Peter!" while Dr. Sanford blinked
like one who tries to look the sun in the face.
"Surprises you! I expect it is surprising," said Peter. "Never had
any other idea since he was a little shaver. Always had my eye on him,
but wasn't going to ruin him by making him think he didn't have to go
out and clean cattle cars and knock down Prussians on his own account.
Wanted to leave my fortune to a man, and the way to become a man is to
go out and scratch gravel. Was kind of backing him when Ledyard took
him on, but don't you tell him; it would make him mad. Now Ledyard
says he won't let him go; but Ledyard doesn't own the whole United
States. Remember last time I saw Phil and I was talking about my
employees' clubhouse--he gave me such a slam that my indignation was
real."
Misfortune to Phil had cracked the Smithers burr and revealed the sweet
kernel inside.
"Peter, I----"
"Peter, we----"
The Longfield Sanfords were at last trying to utter their thanks. As
for the Truckleford Sanfords, they still expected to see Peter toss a
rope skyward and climb up it out of sight.
"Bless you for a pair of the best old dears that ever lived!" said
Peter. "If it hadn't been for your father, Doctor, I might be holding
Bill Hurley's job driving the local 'bus. Now, what you want to do is
to get to Phil, don't you?"
"Yes! Oh, above everything!" exclaimed Mrs. Sanford.
"I gadded all over London trying," said the Doctor, who narrated his
experiences.
"That baby boy at the Embassy, with his little accent and his little
moustache turned up, and afraid he might slip on his little shadow,
that's Levering's son," said Peter. "Levering started driving a donkey
in a mine and left about two hundred thousand dollars and got heart
disease making it, while his wife was in Paris. She couldn't stay at
home in Cokeville because she had no social standing there. He used to
see her once a year, if he could spare two weeks to cross the pond.
But I'm wasting a lot of words on him, though it's time somebody gave
him a twist. Now, I'll go back to London to-night."
"But you must stay to dinner!" begged the vicar.
"Sorry. But we want to see Phil. Is there a telegraph office here?
Good! Might as well start things moving. I'll get dinner at one of
those little inns. First-rate meat and potatoes; that's all a man
wants--only the English never season anything. Put a pile of salt on
the side of their plate and dab every mouthful in it, which means
irregular distribution and a waste of time."
He was shaking hands all around preparatory to going, when he had a
reminder.
"I want to see that ancestor of ours," he said. "Mine by adoption!
You don't mind? I see your family isn't large and there ought to be
enough of him to go round."
"We welcome you!" said the vicar, chuckling. This interest in
genealogy convinced him that both Peter and the three millions must be
real.
Peter looked the ancestor over with the eye of one who knows men.
"I'm proud of him!" he concluded, with a wink to the vicar. "You can
see that he had his teeth set firmly in their sockets. Most ancestors
have, and those of later generations get wiggly. Well, I'm off!"
When Peter had gone four white heads gazed at one another and swallowed
and gazed. Three million dollars! Peter confessed it! And all for
Phil!
"Hm-m--let the cat out of the bag!" he mused on his way to London.
"Couldn't help it! Enjoyed it! What the professors call the
psychological moment! Enjoyed keeping it secret before--enjoyed
letting it go. Phil will keep that farm running after I'm gone--if it
doesn't break me before I pass over the border."
Now Peter did not go to the War Office and beat a table and argue; but
he set things in motion by sending cablegrams and telegrams. He did
not even send up his card to the Ambassador until the Ambassador had
received messages from four United States senators, from the man to
whom he owed his appointment, and from the Secretary of State, that
Peter Smithers was in London. Nobody was out at luncheon when he went
to the Embassy, where he was at once given a note to some one on high
who would immediately communicate to some one at the War Office. But
before leaving he reminded the Ambassador that one of the Embassy
chore-boys, ought to be taught civility as well as manners.
Nor did Peter go to the War Office until the General who was above the
General who was above the General that Phil had first seen also had
heard from several quarters about the importance of Peter Smithers.
The Great One at the War Office was most cordial, and Peter talked to
him as if he were used to meeting Great Ones. Both were leaders and
organisers of men.
"I think there will be no difficulty," said the Great One. "We'll make
a special case of it on account of his having to remain a long time at
a base hospital in France. I'd heard about that young man before.
Fine chap! Hope he'll pull through. A relative of yours?"
"Nephew!" Peter replied truthfully.
Hadn't he formally adopted himself as Phil's uncle?