GREATER THINGS
A week flew past. In the convalescent ward there was the greatest
amount of suppressed excitement. All the soldiers loved Helen, and
they showered her with queer, pathetic little gifts, always the best of
their poor store of belongings. Tony was not to leave his cot. He
would have to be moved across Europe on a stretcher, but he lay beaming
at the men who called good wishes to him in half a dozen languages.
The wedding morning dawned clear and beautiful. Every soldier who
could hobble was out early gathering flowers and boughs with which they
trimmed the ward. Helen, who was a hundred yards away, in the nurses'
tent, knew nothing of all this. An hour before she was to come to meet
Tony, the old doctor, bearing a large package, stood before the tent.
"My dear," he said awkwardly when Helen appeared, "I--er--wanted to do
something for you, and it gave me a good deal of happiness to pretend
that you were my own daughter, if you don't object. I happen to have a
sister in Paris, and I telegraphed her a week ago. I think I have
heard you say you were size thirty-six. Well, my dear, this package
has just come. She sent it in care of a reserve of nurses. You
see--ha--hum--the men will be so pleased. Now you put it on if it is
fit for you, and wear it, with the love of a grateful old man." He
turned and abruptly walked away as Helen untied the box, but he could
not so escape from those swift feet. There was a cry as the girl
peered beneath the papers, and then a swift rush toward him. So it
happened that it was not Zaidos' reluctant and unaccustomed shoulder on
which the happy tears were shed, and it was not to Tony that Helen's
last tender girl-kisses were given.
And when the time came for the simple, sad little ceremony in the
hospital ward, it was not a dark clad nurse who walked between the cots
on the doctor's arm, but such a vision of loveliness that the men
gasped and Tony turned so pale that the aid beside him reached for the
spirits of ammonia. For the doctor's present was a wedding dress, just
as satiny and lacy and long as any bride in Mayfair could have worn.
The veil covered her lovely face, and through it her dark eyes lingered
tenderly on the eager white faces that lined her path. And last they
rested on Tony. Zaidos caught the look, and it made him feel that he
would do most anything to have anyone look at him like that. It was a
look that a fellow could never bear unless he had lived a clean and
honest life. Zaidos, seeing this wonderful look that was meant for
Tony alone, glanced quickly away and somehow it was he, down in his
innermost heart, who longed for a shoulder to cry on!
In a few short minutes the little ceremony was over, and a musical
genius played the wedding march on a mouth-organ so you'd know it
anywhere. He followed that with _God Save the King_, and _Tipperary_,
while Helen, looking more like an angel every minute, walked slowly
down the aisle, shaking hands with the men. She came at last to one
whose arms were both gone. Without a moment's hesitation she stooped
and pressed a kiss on the upturned brow. Another moment with a last
smile and wave of her hand, she was gone, leaving the men with their
beautiful memory.
Zaidos asked the doctor, who was openly wiping his eyes, to speak with
him a moment outside.
"You know my cousin is out there," he said, with a wave of the arm at
the field where great trenches made a resting place for hundreds of
unknown men. "I've been trying to think of something to do for him,
something to remember him by. I couldn't think of anything. First I
thought of a monument; and then I thought of tablets in the church at
Saloniki. Then it just happened to come to me, that why not do
something for our field hospital here. When I get to England I will
arrange to have the money sent you. Do you approve of that?"
"Of course I do, my boy," said the doctor heartily. "Of course I
approve! Any help would be most gratefully accepted. You know how
short we are for everything. Send anything you feel like affording.
Any little sum you happen to want to give."
"I was wondering about five hundred dollars a month, while the war
lasts," said Zaidos musingly. "Would that make much difference?"
"Five--five hundred American dollars?" screamed the doctor. "_A
hundred pounds_? You don't mean that, do you? Why, hum--haw--can you
afford it?"
"Oh, yes," said Zaidos simply. "I suppose I can afford almost anything
I want. I had a long talk with my father the night he died, so I
happen to know just what my income is. And I don't spend much. There
isn't anything to spend it for. Of course, when I go back to school, I
mean to put up a new gymnasium. The one we have is a freak; but that
won't break me, either."
"A hundred pounds!" said the doctor. Delightful visions of endless
rolls of bandages, antiseptics, medicines, nurses, litters, shelter
tents, beds, and food appeared before the doctor's delighted eyes. "A
hundred pounds!" he repeated. "Zaidos, Zaidos, you will erect a
monument to your cousin finer--" he choked, then turned, and with an
arm over Zaidos' shoulder continued: "Well, Zaidos, it is hard for an
Englishman, and an old Englishman at that, to express what he feels;
but, my boy, I am as proud of you as though you were my own son! Proud
of you, Zaidos! You are perfectly sure you mean it?"
"Of course," said Zaidos, laughing. "I think the thing to do is to put
money in a bank and fix it so you yourself can draw it, as needed, at
the rate of five hundred a month. I'll be busy in school catching up
so I won't be able to see to it."
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" said the doctor. "I think I will go see the
General, Zaidos. I have got to tell someone. I can never keep all
this to myself."
He went hurrying off and Zaidos watched him. Once he bumped into a
tree and twice an orderly called him. He made no reply. He was
thinking with whirling brain of the lives he would be able to save.
Then he reached the General's tent, and burst in unceremoniously. They
had been classmates at college.
"Dick," cried the doctor, "Dick, the most amazing thing has happened!"
and with a rush of words he poured out the fine news.
"Well, bless me, bless me!" cried the General, shoving back from the
table where a map of Europe was spread. "Now, Henry, I know just how
well pleased you are. Why, what wonderful things you can do with all
that money! But are you sure the lad will do as he says?"
"You ought to know that lad, Dick!" exploded the doctor. "He's the
finest boy! He's just what you would have wanted your boy to be like,
if you had loved some girl, and had married her, and had had a baby,
and it had grown up. He won't disappoint me, rest assured of that!"
And Zaidos didn't.
When, after a long, slow and anxious journey, Helen and Tony and Zaidos
finally reached London, Zaidos left the young married pair in the
charge of a full battalion of relatives that had advanced in close
formation as their train drew into the station, and proceeded at once
to the office of a lawyer who was none other than Tony's cousin Jack.
It took only a couple of days to fix the thing all up for the doctor;
indeed, it was so tied up with red tape and all that, that Zaidos was
not sure anyone would _ever_ get the money.
Jack was more than nice to Zaidos, and insisted on taking him to his
own quarters, where he rested quietly for several days. The journey
had been harder than Zaidos had realized. His leg ached, and it was
slow work getting around on crutches. As soon as Jack could get away,
he suggested that they should go down to Hazelden, and see for
themselves if Tony was improving as much as the family claimed.
They went on the train, for Jack had given up his motor car as his
donation to the war fund. In the station, as Zaidos was hobbling
painfully along, a husky youth in uniform bumped into him, and nearly
knocked him over. He apologized.
"All right, Nick, all right!" said Zaidos joyously.
The husky youth stared, then gave a very un-English whoop, and made a
bear rush at Zaidos. When he had finished patting him on the back and
stuttering all sorts of inquiries, he managed to make a few questions
clear. Where was he going? What for? Who was he going to stay with?
When was he coming back? If it wasn't rotten, _rotten_ luck that he
was just off for Paris on government business!
When Zaidos could get a word in edgewise, he broke it to
Nickell-Wheelerson that he was going away from England, back to
America--and to that end his passage was already secured on a vessel
leaving in a week's time. He was going down to visit some people named
Hazelden.
"My second cousins, by Jove!" averred Nick, delighted. "A week? Well,
if I can smooth things over between the Allies and Germany, in less
than that time, I'll come down and ask them to put me up for a day."
He patted Zaidos again. "It certainly seems good to see you, old chap!
Here's my train, so I must go. Don't forget me, and I'll get down
before you leave, if I can."
He dashed for the door the porter held open for him, and with a last
wave of the hand was carried out of sight. When Jack returned, Zaidos
told him about the encounter, and Jack laughed.
"Of course he's a cousin," he said. "One of the nicest fellows I know.
Didn't know you knew him. Odd about its being such a little world and
all that, don't you think?" He laughed. "Once I met a chap in India
way up in the mountains. I was running around a bit, and he was
tracking down a lost tribe or something of the sort. A while after
that I walked into dad's billiard room at home, and there was the
Johnny playing billiards with himself, cool as you please! He stopped,
and said, 'Hullo, didn't know you knew I this family!'
"I said, 'Didn't know you knew them, either.'
"'Relations, perhaps?' he asked.
"'Yes, parents,' I told him, and then we had a jolly gas."
Jack waited on Zaidos with such care all the way down from London that
the boy said he would be entirely spoiled. A big, roomy car met them
at the station and carried them smoothly over miles of perfect road
through the vast park of the Hazelden's where pheasants by the dozen
flew across their path, bright-eyed deer dashed into hiding, and
hundreds of wonderful Persian sheep grazed on the lawns that had been
lawns for generations.
It seemed strange to see Helen in filmy summer dress instead of the
severe uniform of a nurse, and Zaidos missed the white cap on her
beautiful hair, but he decided finally that she was even prettier
without it. Zaidos could not keep from watching her every move. She
ordered Tony about with a pretty air of sternness, but with such a look
of loving devotion that it was easy to see the reason for the young
man's look of contentment.
The days flew past as though on wings. Helen's younger sister proved
to be a second edition of Helen, even prettier if possible, and Zaidos
found himself wondering how he could ever have given a thought to the
blonde damsel whom he had met at the hop so long ago. Before it came
time to go, Zaidos caught himself regarding Helen in a new light. He
found himself thinking that she would be a very pleasant person to have
in the family! And that was going a long, long way for Zaidos!
He had news for Helen. A letter from the old doctor, with pages of
thanks and plans for the use of the money. Of course Helen had to hear
it all, and afternoons they would all sit on the terrace together, and
talk of the future and make pleasant plans.
Of the past, of the dreadful days on the stained battlefields of the
Dardanelles, they spoke little. Some day perhaps when time had
mellowed the colors, then this group of young people could talk it
over. Just now the price they had paid for their experiences seemed
too great. It was all too near. They tried to put it behind them, as
all the world will have to do when at last this war is over, when the
last gun calls its death challenge, when all the submarines rise to the
surface of the outraged sea, and the last war Zeppelin settles to
earth. On that day, a curtain must fall over this terrible middle-act
in modern history, to rise again on new and nobler things.
The group on the terrace, enjoying the warm afternoon sun, often kept
the mournful silence of those who have known all war's horrors, yet
they were filled with deepest thankfulness that they were spared to
each other.
The old Earl followed Tony in his invalid chair with adoring eyes.
Every day, a dozen women, ladies of high degree, assembled and sewed or
knit for the soldiers. The great county houses on either side were
given over as convalescent homes. Fairs, bazaars, teas, meetings
filled the days. England gave all her time and strength for the
soldiers.
When Zaidos found a chance to read the doctor's letter to Helen she was
so pleased with it that she insisted on taking it and reading it to a
number of the committees that seemed to be meeting from morning until
night. The letter gave a clear view of the needs of the Red Cross, and
told so well of the good it was doing. And to his horror, Zaidos was
invited to address three separate organizations. Helen refused for him
after he had threatened to run away by night and walk to London.
Nick evidently had trouble with the Allies or the Germans, because he
did not come down, and sent no word.
It came time for Zaidos to leave. The last night he was there he wrote
a bunch of letters. The first was addressed to school, and commenced:
Fellows:
Well, after all, I'm coming back. Such a lot of things have happened
that there is no use writing about them at all. I'll tell you all that
it's good for you to hear when I see you. Only there's no reason for
me to stay here now as there is now no one in this country belonging to
me. My only relative, a cousin about my age, was shot and killed. And
I got nipped a little. So they don't want me any more, and I'm coming
back on the next steamer. If you can get it, I want my old room.
I'm visiting some fine people here in the country. Met 'em on the
battlefield. At least I met two of them there. I saw Nick in London,
but he's in France now. You know he's an Earl; but it doesn't seem to
worry him. He stepped all over me just the same as ever, and was just
as sorry. He wears a uniform, of course, so I don't know if his
neckties are as bad as ever they used to be.
It's going to be good to see you. I guess after all I have told you
all the news. Nothing much has happened, as you see.
There's a girl here; you never saw anything like her. Say, she makes
me feel sorry for you way off there!
Well, so long, boys! I'll see you soon, if we don't get torpedoed.
They don't make many plans over here. They say, "Do come and see me
to-morrow if you don't get Zeppelined." So long!
ZAIDOS.
Zaidos folded this letter with the pleased consciousness that he had
written a lot of news.
The next was for the doctor.
"Dear Doctor," he wrote, "I'm at the Hazeldens; and they are about the
nicest people in the world. Among other members of the family, Mrs.
Hazelden, who was Miss Helen, has a sister who seems a pleasant young
lady. I will soon leave for America; and except for leaving the
Hazeldens, as well as Helen's sister, who seems real pleasant, I shall
be glad to go. I do hate to hang around and do nothing. A million
people come here every day and work for the soldiers. I think the men
would appreciate it if they could know the amount of tea it takes to
keep them going here while they sew.
The money is all fixed up. I do hope you will enjoy spending it. Let
me hear from you some day, doctor. Perhaps that is asking a good deal,
but it would be fine if you could spare time.
I often think of Velo. Somehow he seems different to me now. There
were a lot of things about Velo that used to make me mad, but which now
I do not seem to remember. It is a great pity that he died. Perhaps
if he had lived, and I had taken him back to school with me, he would
have had a different life. I don't know. Anyway, somehow I think of
him a good deal, and I'm glad I do, because it must be awful to have no
one at all to think of you after you are dead.
I will write again when I get back to America, doctor. Don't forget me
and don't forget that I am going to try to be as great a surgeon as you
are.
Your friend,
ZAIDOS."
The third letter was written in modern Greek, using the familiar "thee"
and "thou" of intimate speech.
My old Nurse Maratha:
The war kept me from thee, when at last I could get away. I would have
come to Saloniki if I could but I had an errand that took me straight
to England.
Velo is dead, Maratha. He was shot in the big battle. You must have
been praying when he died, if I know thee still. And I was shot, too,
a little, and must ever walk lame. I tell thee this so no one else may
tell thee first. I am only a _little_ lame, though. In a day or two I
take ship for America and so back to school, as thou heardst His
Highness, my father, plan that last night. Close the house, and go
thou to the lodge. Keep all the servants who have served my father for
more than ten years and pay them from the money I shall send thee each
month. And be very good to Maratha, for I shall come back some day,
and she must not be too old or too lame to take care of me.
Good-bye, Maratha. I am always
Thy boy,
ZAIDOS.
Zaidos sealed the letters and sent them off with a sigh of relief. He
had now but one cause of worry. He had promised to write to Helen's
sister, and he didn't know what to say! He forgot the fact that he
would not have to write the letter until he reached America. But at
last he forgot even that when the parting came.
Helen tore herself away from Tony and went down to London to see him
off; and Jack went rushing around making all sorts of work for himself.
They were early at the pier, and, after Zaidos' baggage was settled in
his stateroom, the three people sauntered back to the dock for the half
hour that remained before the first warning call. Three familiar
figures came down, looking here and there. Helen saw them and
exclaimed, "Why, there's father, and mother, and Alice!"
And sure as fate it was! The rector had had to take the next train for
London most unexpectedly, and so thought he would bring his wife and
daughter to join in the leave-takings.
So Zaidos had quite a little group of people waving him good-bye as the
ship went slowly out into the west. But the gaze that held him longest
and the face he saw the last was not Helen's!