Osborne's Reward
THE three officers stood aghast. They could do little or nothing to
separate the struggling, heaving forms of the canine combatants. In
ordinary circumstances Laddie would have been more than a match for
the mongrel, but with a recently healed injury the sheep-dog was
considerably handicapped.
"He'll break that jaw again!" exclaimed Dixon, alarmed at the
prospect of three weeks' work being thrown away.
Webb said not a word. Anxiously he watched the struggle, his thoughts
dwelling upon the effect the impending calamity would have on his
wounded chum. Captain M'Bride at length made an effort to separate
the antagonists, but wisely desisted.
In less than a minute the fight was over and Laddie was the victor.
The mongrel, making for the most vulnerable part of his opponent--for
the thick under-coat of the sheep-dog forms an almost complete
protection--had seized him by the ear. With a quick wrench Laddie
shook himself clear, and gripped the cur by the neck. Then, like a
terrier shaking a rat, the sheep-dog banged his foe's head thrice
upon the hard ground. The aggressor had had more than enough.
Anxiously Dixon knelt down, and examined the jaw of the
dust-smothered and foam-flecked Laddie. Then he gave a whoop of
satisfaction.
"Sound as a bell!" he exclaimed. "My word! Some successful operation
that--eh, what?"
"We must give the brute a drink of water and a good brush down," said
Captain M'Bride. "By Jove! he's a tough customer. We can't take him
in that horrible state to see his master."
Adjournment for Laddie's refreshment and toilet followed. This done,
the "deputation", as Captain M'Bride insisted upon calling it,
proceeded on its delayed visit.
It had been the captain's intention to keep Laddie in the background
until Osborne had been given an opportunity of greeting his chum, and
had been introduced to the army officer who had been instrumental in
saving the dog's life. It was M'Bride's idea of "breaking news
gently". But Laddie, not having been consulted in the matter, thought
fit to do otherwise.
His instinct told him that his master was in the buildings. With a
run he bounded into Osborne's room, and in an ecstasy of delight
rubbed his head against the Lieutenant's hand.
"I don't know how to thank you enough," said Osborne, when Dixon had
been introduced and his part in the saving of Laddie's life related.
"No need," replied Dixon protestingly. "Quite an interesting
operation. Mere professional motives. Difficult case--rather out of
the ordinary, don't you know--so I tackled it, and it came off all
right."
"He's too modest, Osborne," declared Webb. "Some day, when he's not
here, I'll tell you what he did and the trouble he took."
"If you do," said Dixon with mock severity, "I'll let Osborne know
what _you_ were doing when first I called at your quarters."
"Hallo, what's this?" enquired the wounded Lieutenant, noticing the
additional gold ring on the sleeve of Webb's uniform. "Congrats.,
Tom; the heartiest!"
"And he has the D.S.O.," added Captain M'Bride.
"Goodness only knows what for!" said Webb. "I did no more than the
rest of us, and yet---- You ought to have had the distinction, old
man."
Osborne smiled.
"It's reward for having done your duty, old chap," he said. "I, too,
have mine--I have Laddie back again."
"Can you stand the receipt of serious news, Osborne?" asked Captain
M'Bride gravely.
Webb and Dixon looked at the skipper with ill-disguised astonishment.
The idea of breaking bad news to a sick man seemed, to say the least
of it, rather out of place.
"I'm afraid that, when this war's over," continued Captain M'Bride,
"you'll never go back to the old British and Pacific Company."
"Has the company smashed?" asked Osborne with evident concern.
"Smashed? Not it," replied the skipper. "Who ever heard of a shipping
concern going smash in these days of high freightage? No, Osborne,
it's not that. In recognition of your services the Admiralty have
transferred you from the R.N.R. to the Royal Navy--a signal honour."
"And that means," added Osborne, "that not for the period of the war
only, but after, I'll still be under the White Ensign."
"Ay," exclaimed Webb. "Under the White Ensign--you lucky bounder!"
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_At the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland_
End of Project Gutenberg's Under the White Ensign, by Percy F. Westerman