It was raining when Victor Crummles stepped out into the street. But he did
not notice the fact. True, he put his umbrella up, but that was mere force
of habit. He was not aware that he had put it up. His mind was far too
engaged with the ordeal before him to permit any consciousness of external
things to creep into it. He was "up against it and no mistake," he observed
to himself. There was the paper in his pocket telling him the time and
place at which he was to present himself for medical examination. He put
his hand in his pocket. It was there all right. Kilburn. Twelve o'clock.
Yes, he was fairly up against it. Not, as he hastened to assure himself,
that he objected.... Not at all.... He had always been a patriot, and
always would be. He'd love to have a smack at the Huns. He'd give them what
for.... He wished he'd been a bit younger--that's what he wished. If he'd
been a bit younger he'd have gone like a shot. That's what he'd have
done--he'd have gone like a shot. No fetching him--if he'd been a bit
younger. But a chap at thirty-eight ... well....
Here was the "Golden Crown." Yes, he thought he'd better have "just one."
It would pull him together and give the doctors a chance. He ought to give
them a chance whatever the consequence to himself. A whisky-and-soda would
just put him "in the pink."
There, that was better. Now he could face anything. Now for Kilburn. How
should he go? It was two miles at least ... a good two miles. There was No.
16--he could take that. And there was the Tube--he could take that.
Or he could walk. There was plenty of time.... Yes, on the whole he thought
he ought to walk. There was that varicose vein. The doctors ought to know
about that. It wouldn't be fair to them or to the country that they
shouldn't know about it. Varicose veins were very serious affairs indeed.
He knew because he'd looked the subject up in the dictionary. It had made
such a deep impression on him-that he could repeat what it said:--
"The dilation and thickening of the veins with lengthening and tortuosity,
and projection of certain points in the form of knots or knobs, in which
the blood coagulates, fibrin is deposited, and in the centre sometimes even
osseous matter; in addition the coats of the veins are diseased."
There was more about it than that. It looked a very black case indeed. Many
a man had been turned down for varicose veins, and--and--well, the doctors
ought to know about it. That was all.... They ought to know about it.... He
oughtn't to go there and pass himself off under false pretences.... Mind
you, he wanted to fight the Germans all right. He wanted to do his
bit--nobody more so. But was it fair not to let the doctors see what was
the matter with him? He certainly had those knots and knobs when he walked
very hard. Who knew? Perhaps there was "fibrin" and "osseous matter" there.
At any rate, the doctors ought to see his leg under fair conditions....
He didn't hold with allowing your patriotism to make you deceive your
country. It wasn't fair to the country to let it spend a heap of money on a
fellow who might "crock up" in the first week or two. It wasn't fair to the
fellow either. Not that he was thinking about himself.... Not at all. It
was the country he was thinking of. A fellow must think about the country
sometimes. It was his duty to put his own feelings, as it were, under the
tap. He wanted to go to the war as much as any man, but he didn't want the
country to lose by him....
Yes, it was his duty to walk. It was his duty not to conceal those knots
and knobs. He hoped they wouldn't be a fatal objection. But he was going to
play a straight bat with the country whatever happened.... He was not the
man to palm himself for what he wasn't. He would show the doctor quite
plainly what his varicose vein was like.
When Victor Crummles entered the room he was feeling a bit tired, but
courageous. He had taken another "stiffener" at the "Spread Eagle" and felt
equal to any fate. There were two doctors in the room--one sitting at a
table, the other standing by the window.
"Anything the matter with you?" said he at the table.
"Not that I know," said Victor with the air of a man who meant business.
Then, as if unwillingly dragging the truth out of himself he added, "I have
got a bit of a varicose vein, but it's hardly worth mentioning."
"Oh, don't worry about that," said the doctor. "We've got past that stage.
Now strip."
Don't worry about that! Got past that stage! What did it mean?... Well, he
had done his duty.... If there was fibrin and osseous matter in his veins
he had given them fair warning. It was the country that would suffer. These
doctors,... well, there....
"Stripped? Now, let's have a look at you."
The doctor examined him carefully. Perhaps that varicose vein would
surprise him after all. He'd walked two miles and it ought to be ... not
that he wanted it to be; but if it was--well, it was only fair they should
know.
"What did you say your age was?"
"Thirty-eight, sir."
"Thirty-eight! Thirty-eight ... um ... Come here, Jeffkins."
Jeffkins came from the window and joined his colleague, and together the
two doctors took stock of Victor. They were taking no notice of his leg.
Well, it was their look out. He wouldn't be to blame if he broke down.
"You can dress." And the two doctors went to the window and consulted in
low tones.
Then the first came back.
"Well, my man, it won't do," he said. "We like your spirit.... Very
creditable, very creditable indeed. But (laughing) thirty-eight! Come,
come."
Light was breaking in on Victor. Was he really being rejected?... And
because he was too old?... Oh, the scandal, the shame.... And he dying to
get at those Huns....
"But upon my oath...." He was really in earnest now.
"There, there, we understand," said the doctor. "You've done your best. And
it's very creditable to you--very. But thirty-eight! Come, come.... Now,
good morning."
Outside, Victor's anguish and indignation were too bitter to be borne
unaided. He turned into the "Spread Eagle."