A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew:
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, and many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
--_Goldsmith_
Captain Richard Bargrave, Superintendent of L Division--better known by
the fond appellation of "Father"--sauntered slowly along the narrow
sidewalk leading from his quarters to the orderly-room; the aged
black-and-white setter "Bob," his constant companion, keeping step
behind.
How well many of us can recall that tall, spare, soldierly figure, and
the walk with its faint suggestion of old-fashioned cavalry swagger,
while the whispers of "Look out! here's Father coming now!" sent us all
scuttling about our duties. How we used to fume and curse (behind his
back) at his numerous erratic bursts of temper and little
eccentricities. How his polished sarcasm and fluent adjectives used to
curl us up and, incidentally--excite our envy. And yet--how we learned
to trust and respect that irascible but kindly old aristocratic face,
with its sweeping fair mustache. Aye!--
He passed as a Man in our critical eyes,
Stern, yet kindly--simple, yet wise.
Who'd upheld his rank since his service began
As "An Officer, and ... a Gentleman."
"Father's a rum old beggar but, begad, he's a gentleman and always gives
you a square deal," was our invariable retort to divers disparaging
criticisms from members of other divisions, less fortunate, perhaps, in
the stamp of their own particular "Officer Commanding."
Benton, who, attired in a red serge tunic--borrowed from Dudley for the
occasion--was looking through the billiard-room window, watched his
approach with interest. When nearing the orderly-room the old dog,
seeing "the Monk's" pup in supreme possession of the step, jumped
forward with a threatening growl to eject the usurper of his own
customary lounge. In the scuffle that ensued they got between "Father's"
legs and nearly upset him.
"Damn the dogs! Damn the dogs!" he chuckled softly.
And, stepping over them carefully, with a fond, benevolent smile, he
passed on through the open door, half humming, half whistling a hymn
tune, which was not, however, prompted by especial piety. It was a habit
of his. But to the observant sergeant it was an omen.
"He _is_ in a good temper," he muttered with relief, and quietly he
awaited the summons that he knew must come.
It came presently. "Sergeant Major!... Oh, Sergeant Major!" came the
thin, high, cultured voice. "Has Sergeant Benton reported in yet from
Elbow Vale?"
The gruff official holding that rank and who was familiar to most
members of the Division as "Mickey," saluted and replied in the
affirmative.
"Send him in!" came the order, and shortly Ellis found himself standing
at "attention," facing his seated superior.
"That will do, Sergeant Major!... Kindly close the door," and they were
alone.
There was silence for a moment or two, during which the O.C. rummaged
amongst some letters on his desk. He found the one he wanted and
scrutinized it carefully. "Sergeant Benton," he began, with a sudden
snap in his tones and a quick upward glance that strung that individual
up to tense expectancy, "I have here a letter--an _anonymous_
letter--accusing you-of-grossly and maliciously-assaulting a well known
and respected citizen of Elbow Vale on the night of the twelfth
instance.... Motive unknown--all names--with the exception of your
own--omitted. Said assault of such severe character that its recipient
is still confined to bed.
"Now, sir!... although I generally make a rule of treating anonymous
correspondence with the contempt it deserves--there seems something
vaguely familiar in this handwriting that inclines me on this occasion
to revoke my usual practise, and make a few inquiries into this puzzle.
I look to you for the key. You have the reputation of being a truthful
man in this Division.... Is the statement in this letter correct?"
Benton hesitated. "As far as the assault goes, yes, sir," he said
finally.
"What led to this assault?"
The Sergeant hesitated again. "A dirty slander, sir, connecting me with
a married woman in the town," he said.
The Captain tapped with his pen and eyed Ellis keenly. "_Was_ it a
slander?" he queried quizzically--and then repented, for there was a
look on that reckless but gentlemanly face that dispelled all
doubt--even before the man's answer came.
"Ah, well, then," said the O.C., "that accounts for this letter being
anonymous. Now give me all names and particulars of this affair."
The Sergeant did so and the Captain's face darkened as he listened. "So
that's who it is, eh?" he muttered thoughtfully. "Thought I knew that
writing again.... I remember the man--well--but I don't think I've ever
met the lady." And the fair mustache was twirled gallantly.
The recital finished by the Sergeant remarking: "I couldn't very
well--under the circumstances, sir--lay a charge, or act otherwise than
I did--without dragging the lady's name into this miserable affair."
"You've no business going about assaulting people, anyway," retorted the
old gentleman irascibly, with one of his characteristic changes of
front. "And though it is not my intention to take any further notice of
this unsigned epistle, as I am fully convinced you have told me the
absolute truth--I do not think it would be good policy to send a man
with your pugilistic tendencies back to this locality again. Let's see,"
he mused aloud, "you're a good range man. I think I'll transfer you to
Cherry Creek, where you will be, I hope, beyond all temptation of
getting involved again in any more of these--ah--social
misunderstandings (Ellis groaned inwardly). Arrange for your kit to be
sent in from Elbow Vale and proceed to Cherry Creek. I will give you a
written order for Corporal Williamson to hand over the detachment to you
and to come in to the Post. He seems to have been getting slack, for
there are a lot of stock-rustling complaints coming in from his district
lately. See if you cannot effect a change in present conditions there.
"Well!" he grunted impatiently, as the Sergeant halted irresolutely at
the door, "what is it?"
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Benton, "but can I keep the same horse?"
"Oh, I suppose--I suppose," said the O.C. testily. "Damme, sir!...
You've had that cursed horse transferred from every detachment you've
been stationed at!" He fussed with some papers. "You'd better tell
Williamson then, to ride in, and the next man who goes to Elbow Vale can
take _his_ horse. That is all, Sergeant.... Report to the Sergeant-Major
of your transfer."
In the passage Ellis encountered the Sergeant-Major and Dudley.
"Banishment--physically, socially, and morally--right back to the
'bald-headed' again!" he plainted dismally to their inquiring grins.
"Father intimating in his own happy fashion that I wasn't quite
civilized enough to hold down a Line detachment.... Cherry Creek!... O
Lord!"
Inside the orderly-room the Captain, meanwhile, was slowly pacing
backwards and forwards, hands clasped behind back. Through his teeth he
softly hissed one of his eternal hymn tunes, which he suddenly broke off
short to ejaculate with a low-toned, jerky abruptness to himself--"D--n
the man!--d--n the man! Don't blame him! Couldn't tell him so, though!
Thought I knew that writing! D--d cad, that fellow Cooper!... Knew him
years ago! D--d rascal! Glad Benton thrashed him! Done the same
myself!--younger days!"
He resumed his interrupted hymn.