CHEERO!
It was ten days later that the summons to France came—ten days during
which the boys had managed to make several meteoric dashes over to
Homewood for the night, and had accomplished one blissful week-end,
during which, with the aid of their fellow-countrymen, they had brought
the household to the verge of exhaustion from laughter. Nothing could
damp their spirits: they rode and danced, sang and joked, and,
apparently, having no cares in the world themselves, were determined
that no one else should have any. The Hunt family were drawn into the
fun: the kitchen was frequently invaded, and Miss de Lisle declared
that even her sitting-room was not sacred—and was privately very
delighted that it was not. Allenby began to develop a regrettable lack
of control over his once stolid features; Sarah herself was observed to
stuff her apron into her mouth and rush from the dining-room on more
than one occasion. And under cover of his most energetic fooling Jim
Linton watched his father and sister, and fooled the more happily
whenever he made them laugh.
They arrived together unexpectedly on this last evening, preferring to
bring their news rather than give it by telephone; and found, instead
of the usual cheery tea-party in the hall, only silence and emptiness.
Allenby, appearing, broke into a broad smile of pleasure as he greeted
them.
“Every one’s out, Mr. Jim.”
“So it seems,” Jim answered. “Where are they?”
“Not very far, sir,” Allenby said. “Mrs. ’Unt has them all to tea with
her to-day.”
“Oh, we’ll go over, Wal,” Jim said. “Come and make yourself pretty:
you’ve a splash of mud on your downy cheek.” At the foot of the stairs
he turned. “We’re off to-morrow, Allenby.”
Allenby’s face fell.
“To France, sir?”
Jim nodded.
“The master and Miss Norah will be very sorry, sir. If I may say so,
the ’ole ’ousehold will be sorry.”
“Thanks, Allenby. We’ll miss you all,” Jim said pleasantly. He sprang
upstairs after Wally.
Mrs. Hunt’s sitting-room was already dangerously crowded—there seemed
no room at all for the two tall lads for whom Eva opened the door ten
minutes later. A chorus of welcome greeted them, nevertheless.
“This is delightful,” said Mrs. Hunt. “I’m sure I don’t know how you’re
going to fit in, but you must manage it somehow. If necessary we’ll all
stand up and re-pack ourselves, but I warn you it is risky: the walls
may not stand it!”
“Oh, don’t trouble, Mrs. Hunt,” Jim said. “We’re quite all right.” Both
boys’ eyes had sought Norah as they entered: and Norah, meeting the
glance, felt a sudden pang at her heart, and knew.
“My chair is ever so much too big for me,” she said. “You can each have
an arm.”
“Good idea!” said Wally, perching on the broad arm of the easy-chair
that swallowed her up. “Come along, Jim, or we’ll be lop-sided!”
“We put Norah in the biggest chair in the room, and everybody is
treating her with profound respect,” Mrs. Hunt said. “This is the first
day for quite a while that she hasn’t been hostess, so we made her
chief guest, and she is having a rest-cure.”
“If you treat Norah with respect it won’t have at all a restful effect
on her,” said Wally. “I’ve tried.” To which Norah inquired, “When?” in
a voice of such amazement that every one laughed.
“Misunderstood as usual,” said Wally pathetically. “It really doesn’t
pay to be like me and have a meek spirit: people only think you are a
worm, and trample on you. Come here, Geoff, and take care of me:” and
Geoffrey, who adored him, came. “Have you been riding old Brecon
lately?”
“’M!” said Geoffrey, nodding. “I can canter now!”
“Good man! Any tosses?”
“Well, just one,” Geoffrey admitted. “He cantered before I had gotted
ready, and I fell off. But it didn’t hurt.”
“That’s right. You practise always falling on a soft spot, and you need
never worry.”
“But I’d rather practise sticking on,” said Geoffrey. “It’s nicer.”
“You might practise both,” said Wally. “You’ll have plenty of both, you
know.” He laughed at the puzzled face. “Never mind, old chap. How are
the others, and why aren’t they here?”
“They’re too little,” Geoffrey said loftily. “Small childrens don’t
come in to tea, at least not when there’s parties. I came, ’cause
Mother says I’m getting ’normous.”
“So you are. Are the others quite well?”
“Oh yes,” Geoffrey answered, clearly regarding the question as foolish.
“They’re all right. Alison’s got a puppy, and Michael’s been eating
plate-powder. His mouf was all pink.”
“What’s that about my Michael,” demanded Mrs. Hunt. “Oh yes—we found
him making a hearty meal of plate-powder this morning. Douglas says it
should make him very bright. I’m thankful to say it doesn’t seem to be
going to kill him.”
“Michael never will realize that there is a war on,” said Major Hunt,
aggrieved. “I found him gnawing the strap of one of my gaiters the
other day.”
“You shouldn’t underfeed the poor kid,” said Wally. “It’s clear that
he’s finding his nourishment when and how he can. Isn’t there a Society
for dealing with people like you?”
“There is,” said Jim solemnly. “It’s called the Police Force.”
“You’re two horrible boys!” said their hostess, laughing. “And my
lovely fat Michael!—he’s getting so corpulent he can hardly waddle. He
and the puppy are really very like each other; both of them find it
easier to roll than to run.” She cast an inquiring eye round the room:
“Some more tea, Norah?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Hunt.” Norah’s voice sounded strange in her own
ears. She wanted to get away from the room, and the light-hearted
chatter . . . to make sure, though she was sure already. The guns of
France seemed to sound very near her.
The party broke up after a while. Jim and Wally lingered behind the
others.
“Will you and the Major come over this evening, Mrs. Hunt? We’re off
to-morrow.”
“Oh—I’m sorry.” Mrs. Hunt’s face fell. “Poor Norah!”
“Norah will keep smiling,” said Jim. “But I’m jolly glad you’re so near
her, Mrs. Hunt. You’ll keep an eye on them, won’t you? I’d be awfully
obliged if you would.”
“You may be very sure I will,” she said. “And there will be a
tremendous welcome whenever you get leave.”
“We won’t lose any time in coming for it,” Jim said. “Blighty means
more than ever it did, now that we’ve got a real home. Then you’ll come
to-night?”
“Of course we will.” She watched them stride off into the shrubbery,
and choked back a sigh.
Norah came back to them through the trees.
“It’s marching orders, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s marching orders, old kiddie,” Jim answered. They looked at
each other steadily: and then Norah’s eyes met Wally’s.
“When?” she asked.
“To-morrow morning.”
“Well——” said Norah; and drew a long breath. “And I haven’t your last
week’s socks darned! That comes of having too many responsibilities.
Any buttons to be sewn on for either of you?”
“No, thanks,” they told her, greatly relieved. She tucked a hand into
an arm of each boy, and they went towards the house. David Linton came
out hurriedly to meet them.
“Allenby says——” he began. He did not need to go further.
“We were trotting in to tell you,” said Jim.
“We’ll be just in time to give the Boche a cheery Christmas,” said
Wally. “Norah, are you going to send us a Christmas hamper? With a
pudding?”
“Rather!” Norah answered. “And I’ll put a lucky pig, and a button, and
a threepenny-bit in it, so you’d better eat it with care, or you may
damage your teeth. Miss de Lisle and I are going to plan great parcels
for you; she’s going to teach me to cook all sorts of things.”
“After which you’ll try them on the dogs—meaning us,” Jim said,
laughing. “Well, if we don’t go into hospital after them, we’ll let you
know.”
They came into the house, where already the news of the boys’ going had
spread, and the “Once-Tired’s,” as Wally called their guests, were
waiting to wish them luck. Then everybody faded away unobtrusively, and
left them to themselves. They went into the morning-room, and Norah
darned socks vigorously while the boys kept up a running fire of cheery
talk. Whatever was to come they would meet it with their heads up—all
four.
They made dinner a revel—every one dressed in their best, and
“playing-up” to their utmost, while Miss de Lisle—the only person in
the house who had wept—had sent up a dinner which really left her very
little extra chance of celebrating Peace, when that most blessed day
should come. Over dessert, Colonel West rose unexpectedly, and made a
little speech, proposing the health of the boys, who sat, for the first
time, with utterly miserable faces, restraining an inclination to get
under the table.
“I am sure,” said the Colonel, “that we all wish the—ah—greatest of
luck to our host’s sons—ah, that is, to his son and to—ah—his—ah——”
“Encumbrance,” said Wally firmly.
“Quite,” said the Colonel, without listening. “We know they
will—ah—make things hot for the Boche—ah—whenever they get a chance.
I—we—hope they will get plenty of chances: and—ah—that we will see
them—ah—back, with decorations and promotion. We will miss them—ah—very
much. Speaking—ah—personally, I came here fit for nothing, and
have—ah—laughed so much that I—ah—could almost believe myself a
subaltern!”
The Tired People applauded energetically, and Mrs. West said
“Quite—quite!” But there was something like tears in her eyes as she
said it.
The Hunts arrived after dinner, and they all woke the house with
ringing choruses—echoed by Allenby in his pantry, as he polished the
silver; and Garrett sang a song which was not encored because something
in his silver tenor made a lump come into Norah’s throat; and there was
no room for that, to-night, of all nights. Jack Blake sang them a
stockrider’s song, with a chorus in which all the Australians joined;
and Dick Harrison recited “The Geebung Polo Club,” without any
elocutionary tricks, and brought down the house. Jim had slipped out to
speak to Allenby: and presently, going out, they found the hall
cleared, and the floor waxed for dancing. They danced to gramophone
music, manipulated by Mr. Linton: and Norah and Mrs. Hunt had to divide
each dance into three, except those with Jim and Wally, which they
refused to partition, regardless of disconsolate protests from the
other warriors. It was eleven o’clock when Allenby announced stolidly,
“Supper is served, sir!”
“Supper?” said Mr. Linton. “How’s this, Norah?”
“_I_ don’t know,” said his daughter. “Ask Miss de Lisle!”
They filed in, to find a table laden and glittering; in the centre a
huge cake, bearing the greeting, “Good Luck!” with a silken Union Jack
waving proudly. Norah whispered to her father, and then ran away. She
returned, presently, dragging the half-unwilling cook-lady.
“It’s against _all_ my rules!” protested the captive.
“Rules be hanged!” said Jim cheerfully. “Just you sit there, Miss de
Lisle.” And the cook-lady found herself beside Colonel West, who paid
her great attention, regarding her, against the evidence of his eyes,
as a Tired Person whom he had not previously chanced to meet.
“My poor, neglected babies!” said Mrs. Hunt tragically, as twelve
strokes chimed from the grandfather clock in the hall. Wally and Norah,
crowned with blue and scarlet paper caps, the treasure of crackers,
were performing a weird dance which they called, with no very good
reason, a tango. It might have been anything, but it satisfied the
performers. The music stopped suddenly, and Mr. Linton wound up the
gramophone for the last time, slipping on a new record. The notes of
“Auld Lang Syne,” stole out.
They gathered round, holding hands while they sang it; singing with all
their lungs and all their hearts: Norah between Jim and Wally, feeling
her fingers crushed in each boyish grip.
“Then here’s a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine.”
Over the music her heart listened to the booming of the guns across the
Channel. But she set her lips and sang on.
It was morning, and they were on the station. The train came slowly
round the corner.
“I’ll look after him, Nor.” Wally’s voice shook. “Don’t worry too much,
old girl.”
“And yourself, too,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll keep an eye on _him_,” said Jim. “And Dad’s your job.”
“And we’ll plan all sorts of things for your next leave,” said David
Linton. “God bless you, boys.”
They gripped hands. Then Jim put his arms round Norah’s shoulder.
“You’ll keep smiling, kiddie? Whatever comes?”
“Yes, I promise, Jimmy.”
The guard was shouting.
“All aboard.”
“Cheero, Norah!” Wally cried from the window. “We’ll be back in no
time!”
“Cheero!” She made the word come somehow. The train roared off round
the curve.