This business accomplished, I thought I would call on a friend who lives
near by. She is middle-aged and rather sad, and spends her time pushing
trolleys about a munition works. Just now, however, I knew she had a cold
and couldn't go out. I found her on the floor wrestling with brown paper,
preparing a parcel for her soldier on Salisbury Plain. She adopted him
through a League, and spends all her spare time and pocket-money in socks
and cigarettes for him. She smiled at me wanly, with a piece of string
between her teeth, and I felt I simply must do something to cheer her up.
"I've brought you some chocolates for your cold," I said. "Eat one and
forget the War and the weather," and I handed her Bobbie's box. Her
necessity, as someone says somewhere, seemed at the moment so much greater
than his.
"You extravagant child!" she said, but her face lightened for an instant.
She admired St. George almost as much as I had done, but, though she
fingered the orange-coloured bow, she did not untie it, so I concluded she
meant to have an orgy by herself later on. We talked for a while, and then
I looked at the clock and fled for the hospital. She thanked me again for
the chocolates as I went; she really seemed quite pleased with them.
Two days later Matron collared me in the passage and gave me a handful of
letters and things to distribute. There was a fat parcel for Martha, the
ward-maid. I found her in the closet where she keeps her brooms, and gave
it her. Her eyes simply danced as she took it, first carefully wiping her
hand on her apron.
"It's from my bruvver," she explained. "'Im on Salisbury Plain. Very good
to me 'e always is." She stripped off the paper and gave a sigh of rapture.
"Lor, Nurse, ain't it beautiful?"
It was a chocolate box, a comfortable-looking chocolate box, ornamented
with a red-headed St. George, a large blue dragon and a vivid orange bow.
"It does seem nice," I agreed.
"Fancy 'im spending all that on me," said Martha.
"You'll be able to have quite a feast," said I, smiling at my old friend
St. George.
Martha looked suddenly shy.
"I'm not going to keep it," she confided. She came closer to me. "Do you
remember young Renshaw, what used to be in your ward, Nurse?"
I nodded; I remembered him well, a cheery boy with a smashed leg, now in a
Convalescent Home by the sea.
"'Im and me's engaged," said Martha in a hoarse whisper. "I liked 'im and
he liked me, and one day I was doing the windows 'e asked me. 'E says the
food down there is that monopolous, so I'll send him this 'ere just to
cheer 'im up like."
It seemed an excellent idea to me. I beamed upon Martha. I helped her to
re-wrap St. George, and lent her my fountain-pen to write the address which
was to send my Knight once more upon his travels. It appeared to me that he
and his dragon were seeing a lot of life.
Bobbie had arranged to call for me on his birthday, so when my off duty
came I simply flung on my things and raced for the hall. As I passed
Matron's door she called me in. I entered trembling; it was always a
toss-up with Matron whether you were to be smiled upon or strafed.
To-day she was lamb-like. She sat at a desk piled high with papers. Among
them lay a vivid coloured object.
"I've just had a letter from that young Renshaw," she said. "Such a
charming letter, thanking us for all our kindness and enclosing a present
to show his appreciation." She smiled. She seemed hugely pleased about
something. "He addresses it to me," she went on; "but, though I am grateful
for the kind thought, I do not myself eat chocolates."
She picked up the box, a comfortable-looking box ornamented with an orange
satin bow.
"I think these are more in your line than mine," she said, "and Renshaw was
in your ward. You have really the best right to them."
She handed me the box of chocolates. I gazed at my travelled Saint and he
gazed back. I could almost have sworn he winked.
Clutching him and his dragon, I departed and danced down the corridor into
the hall. There waited Bobbie, red-haired and khaki-clad, more like St.
George than the gallant knight himself.
"How do you do?" I greeted him. "Many happy returns, dear old thing!" As he
held out his hand I put something into it. "A box of chocolates," I
explained; "I bought them for your birthday!"
* * * * *
"Wanted, for Low Comedian, really Funny Sons."--_The Stage_.
As a change, we suppose, from the eternal mother-in-law.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Inveterate Golfer_ (_stung by the leading article_). "I
SUPPOSE _I_ AM REALLY NON-ESSENTIAL. IT'S HARD TO REALISE THIS WITH ONE'S
HANDICAP JUST REDUCED TO SEVEN."]
* * * * *