One morning a south coast train contained a first-class compartment
which was shared by Lieutenant Craighouse, U.S.A., and a timorously
proper gentleman who read the _Times_ for twenty minutes, and then
stared at nothing very intently--an art highly developed amongst those
who worship at the shrine of good form.
Craighouse was silent also for over an hour, which was a feat of the
first magnitude for him. He was thinking of some official figures shown
to him, in confidence, a week past--figures which gave the totals of
England's manufacture of munitions and guns, her construction of
aeroplanes and tanks, her production of all the minutiæ of war
essentials, in quantities which his brain could hardly grasp.
Judged by any standard, the achievement was amazing. For a nation at
peace it would have been stupendous; but, in addition, this country
that amused Americans, this nation of obsolete methods and lack of
organization, had held the seas open and frustrated Germany's plans on
land. He wondered if he had been a fool--if, after all, the English
were not the most efficient race on earth. Just then an advertisement,
conspicuously placed beside the mirror in the compartment, smote his
eye, and he gasped.
"How many people ride in a carriage like this in one day?" he asked
abruptly.
The well-bred one cleared his throat and shook his head. They had not
been introduced; and, besides, he didn't know.
"Ten, twenty, forty--say thirty?" said Craighouse.
"Very probably--oh, yes--rather--quite." The words were decorously
languid.
"Thirty people a day," went on Craighouse rapidly; "say a thousand a
month. In a year that would mean, roughly--oh, put it at ten thousand.
Am I right?"
The Englishman shifted uneasily. "Very probably--oh
yes--rather--quite."
"The war has been going on for three years." The American was warming
to his subject. "Three years mean that approximately thirty thousand
passengers have traveled in this compartment since the beginning of the
war, eh?"
His companion reached for his cigarettes. "Very probably," he said. "Oh
yes--rath----"
"How many of these carriages are in use?" interrupted Craighouse. "Two
hundred, four hundred--say three hundred?"
"Very probably--oh yes----"
"I may be short or long on that estimate, but putting it at three
hundred, this line has had about--well, roughly, nine million
first-class passengers. Is that correct?"
"Very pro----"
"Then, great Scott! look at the advertisement behind you, the most
prominent one in the compartment. This line has had a chance to have a
heart-to-heart talk with nine million average, well-to-do passengers.
From the standpoint of propaganda, figure out the national importance
of that. From the commercial point of view, estimate the value of that
space. And yet, after three years of war, it says that the steamship
line from Newhaven to Dieppe is the shortest route to Austria, south
Germany, and Spain! And it gives a map! Austria, south Germany, and
Spain!----" The American's tirade ended in a splutter of indignation.
The train stopped at a junction station, and both men emerged, the
Englishman proffering his cigarettes.
"Thanks very much," said Craighouse, taking one. "Good-morning." And he
disappeared into the crowd.
The Englishman paused to light his cigarette.
"What extraordinary people these Americans are!" he said to
himself--which recalls the well-known saying of a Quaker to his wife,
"Every one is queer but thee and me; and thou beest a little queer."
V
When one passed the lodge which guarded the entrance to the Lummersdale
estate, all sense of present-day responsibilities fell away like a
cloak. Decades made no impression upon Oaklands; centuries very little.
The family was surrounded by traditions; the past pointed the way to
each succeeding generation, as sign-posts direct itinerant motor-cars
upon their course. A Lummersdale never was forced to plan his own
future, and there is no record of one ever having done so. Whoever bore
the proud title felt that his children did not really belong to him; he
was but a pruner, and they were branches to be trimmed to an absolute
uniformity. A Lummersdale must resemble nothing so much as a
Lummersdale; the associations of Oaklands and a judicious period spent
at a public school succeeded admirably in effecting the required
standardization.
To this home Lieutenant Craighouse, of the U.S.A. Engineers, brought
his ultra-modern and Western Hemispheric personality. Like all men born
in a republic, he had instinctive leanings towards Socialism; like most
men of artistic tastes, he was distinctly susceptible to luxury. He
snorted disapprovingly when the castle-like turrets of Oaklands
appeared, but he drank in the green of the lawns and the colors of the
flowers like a desert traveler who finds a pool in his path.
The earl and his lady welcomed him with simple dignity, spoke of the
pleasure it afforded them to entertain an American officer; and the
butler then took charge of him. Craighouse made a facetious remark to
that gentleman as they went upstairs, but received no encouragement.
Within the precincts of his chamber he made another attempt with
creditable bonhomie, but Mr. Watkins's reply was not stimulating.
"Your bath, sir, is next door, and will be ready for you immediately.
The family breakfasts at nine; lunch is at one-thirty, tea at five; and
dinner is served at eight-fifteen. The gong is sounded, and the family
assembles in the saloon." Whereupon, with an air of deferential
superiority, Mr. Watkins cruised from the room with no apparent
physical effort whatever.
Luncheon produced Second Lieutenant Viscount Oaklands, the
twenty-year-old son and heir, who was leaving that afternoon to join
the --th Horse Guards in France. He was of good athletic physique, and
had a high, clear complexion which spoke not only of an out-of-door
life, but a clean one as well. He was rather languid, and, in an
amiable, impersonal way, appeared somewhat bored. The second son, on
three days' leave from Dartmouth, was two years younger, but differed
very little from the viscount in any other respect.
There was also a daughter. (Craighouse knew instinctively that, if the
countess had been enumerating her family, she would have said, "I also
have a daughter.") She was apparently twenty-three or twenty-four years
of age, possessed of an exquisite skin, eyes which were both blue and
deep, and a golden luxury of hair. With all these fundamentals of
feminine beauty, her appearance was rather disappointing--a lack of
animation in the eyes, a stolidity about the mouth. Craighouse felt,
like Pygmalion, that if this statue could only come to life she would
be irresistible.
The conversation at lunch consisted of flattering questions about
America's preparations--questions to which Craighouse, who was never an
economist in words, did full justice. They all said that it was
perfectly splendid of America to come into the war; in fact, they
didn't know what Britain would have done without her.
"I know," blurted Craighouse. "She'd have gone on fighting until every
family was drained to the last man; and, by Jove! I believe the women
would have carried on then. America is going to make victory possible,
thank God! but England never would have been beaten."
He stopped, surprised at his own vehemence. The Earl of Lummersdale
protested that he was too generous. The countess echoed her husband's
opinion. The sub and naval cadet sons supported their parents' protests
languidly. The daughter, in acknowledged order of precedence, ended the
chorus by the statement that it was ripping of him to say so. Had they
been discussing the commentaries of Cæsar they could not have shown
less enthusiasm. Craighouse pictured a similar situation at home if an
English officer had paid a corresponding compliment. He had not learned
as yet that carrying emotional moderation to excess is part of the
English paradox.
At four that afternoon a trap drove up to the door, and the kit of
Viscount Oaklands appeared followed a moment later by that young
gentleman himself. He kissed his mother, and gave his sister a
half-embrace; then he shook hands with his paternal progenitor, and
nodded to his younger brother.
"Good-by, old man," he said, shaking hands with Craighouse. "Look me up
if you ever get near the regiment, won't you?"
For a few minutes every one spoke of the military situation, the
delightful fellow-officers he would have, and other things which
well-bred people talk of. Amidst all this the trap started, then
stopped at a sign from the viscount.
"I say, dad."
"Yes, Douglas?"
"Do tell Edwards to see that the hounds get some exercise this
week.--Cheer-o, mater!" And thus the eldest son and heir to Oaklands,
which he was never to see again, went to the war.