(From Captain Claude Seaforth to a novelist friend.)
MY DEAR MAN,--You asked me to tell you if anything very remarkable came
my way. I think I have a story for you at last. If I could only write I
would make something of it myself, but not being of Kitchener's Army I
can't.
The other day, while I was clearing up papers and accounts and all over
ink, as I always get, the Sergeant came to me, looking very rum. "Two
young fellows want to see you," he said.
Of course I said I was too busy and that he must deal with them.
"I think you'd rather see them yourself," he said, with another odd
look.
"What do they want?" I asked.
"They want to enlist," he said; "but they don't want to see the doctor."
We've had some of these before--consumptives of the bull-dog breed, you
know. Full of pluck but no mortal use; "done in" on the first route
march.
"Why don't you tell them that they must see the doctor and have done
with it?" I asked the Sergeant.
Again he smiled queerly. "I made sure you'd rather do it yourself," he
said. "Shall I send them in?"
So I wished them further and said "Yes;" and in they came.
They were the prettiest boys you ever saw in your life--too pretty. One
had red hair and the other black, and they were dressed like navvies.
They held their caps in their hands.
"What's this rubbish about not seeing a doctor?" I asked. You know my
brutal way.
"We thought perhaps it could be dispensed with," Red Hair said, drawing
nearer to Black Hair.
"Of course it can't," I told them. "What's the use to the Army of
weaklings who can't stand the strain? They're just clogs in the
machinery. Don't you see that?"
"We're very strong," Red Hair said, "only----"
"Only what?"
"Only----" Here they looked at each other, and Red Hair said, "Shall
we?" and Black Hair said, "Yes;" and they both came closer to me.
"Will you promise," said Red Hair, "that you will treat as confidential
anything we say to you?"
"So long as it is nothing dangerous to the State," I said, rather proud
of myself for thinking of it.
"We want to fight for our country," Red Hair began.
"No one wants to fight more," Black Hair put in.
"And we're very strong," Red Hair continued.
"I won a cup for lawn-tennis at Devonshire Park," Black Hair added.
"But," said Red Hair.
"Yes?" I replied.
"Don't you believe in some women being as strong as men?"
"Certainly," I said.
"Well then," said Red Hair, "that's like us. We are as strong as lots of
men and much keener, and we want you to be kind to us and let us
enlist."
"We'll never do anything to give ourselves away," said Black Hair; but,
bless her innocent heart, she was giving herself away all the time.
Every moment was feminine.
"My dear young ladies," I said at last, "I think you are splendid and an
example to the world; but what you ask is impossible. Have you thought
for a moment what it would be like to find yourselves in barracks with
the ordinary British soldier? He is a brave man and, when you meet him
alone, he is nearly always a nice man; but collectively he might not do
as company for you."
"But look at this," said Red Hair, showing me a newspaper-cutting about
a group of Russian girls known as "The Twelve Friends," who have been
through the campaign and were treated with the utmost respect by the
soldiers.
"And there's a woman buried at Brighton," said Black Hair, "who fought
as a man for years and lived to be a hundred."
"And think of JOAN OF ARC," said Red Hair.
"And BOADICEA," said Black Hair.
"Well," I said, "leaving JOAN OF ARC and BOADICEA aside, possibly those
Russians and that Brighton woman looked like men, which it is certain
you don't. But any way we must be serious. What would your people say?"
"We left word," said Red Hair, "that we were going off to do something
for our country. They won't worry. Oh, please be kind and help us!"
Here all four of their beautiful eyes grow moist.