ODDLY ENOUGH 
 
 rrm t m, i. -Jsa»M mTiiyiBnm i iMi ff tgtmtmmmmmiamaiaam
 
 Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 p.c V . ^ ' v: . 
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ODDLY ENOUGH
 
 ODDLY ENOUGH 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN RESSICH 
 
 1 
 
 LONDON 
 GRANT RICHARDS LTD. 
 
 ST MARTIN'S STREET 
 1922
 
 Printed in Great Bkitain by the Riversiue Press Limited 
 
 Edinburgh
 
 Fr 
 
 TO MY 
 
 LIFELONG FRIEND 
 THAT HONEST ARTIST 
 
 JOHN DUNCAN FERGUSSON 
 
 IN THE 
 
 MEMORY OF MANY HAPPY DAYS AND NIGHTS 
 
 THIS COLLECTION OF SKETCHES 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 "And what, my Boy," asked the Schoolmaster, 
 
 "is a Friend?" 
 •'A Friend," answered Willie brightly, "is the 
 
 Man who knows all about You and still likes 
 
 You." 
 
 O 
 
 9
 
 Contents 
 
 Part I 
 
 A Meeting 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 II 
 
 "Scots Wha Hae" 
 
 
 
 23 
 
 Ex Africa 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 The Dealers 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 Type-ical 
 
 
 
 73 
 
 The Coroner's Tale 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 The Plains 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 Au Quartier 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 Ce Pauv' P'tit Joseph . 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 Je M'en Fiche 
 
 
 
 140 
 
 Part II 
 
 Saddle and Spur 
 
 A Chance . . . . .157 
 
 Jimmy . 
 
 
 
 i6s 
 
 "The Best Laid Schemes" 
 
 
 
 175 
 
 At the Railhead 
 
 
 
 182 
 
 Beulah .... 
 
 
 
 188 
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 
 
 198 
 
 Mascots .... 
 
 
 
 208 
 
 Toujours Perdrix 
 
 
 
 . 215 
 
 The Real Thing 
 
 
 
 224 
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 
 
 . 232 
 7
 
 Part I
 
 A Meeting 
 
 As some day it may happen that a victim must be found. 
 
 Bab Ballads. 
 
 PEGASUS and Daedalus laid a heavy load on 
 a moderately contented humanity when they 
 first showed us the road through the heavens, 
 and in an age which acclaims the scientist as he 
 destroys romance, and the aviator as he annihilates 
 time and space, we must accept, with the best 
 grace we can, however sadly, the fact that we live 
 in the era of so-called Progress and Advancement. 
 Nothing, no corner of the earth, is sacred now and 
 even the unsophisticated Polynesian must honey- 
 moon in a cave lest some empty soda-water bottle 
 jettisoned from a flying machine smite him un- 
 towardly in the back. Yet one is tempted to forgive 
 man's efforts to conquer the air, if only for having 
 eiven birth to the deathless statement of the per- 
 severing Italian who, long before the ice-cream 
 era, having found his way to Scotland and persuaded 
 James the Fourth, of blessed memory, to allow him 
 to give an exhibition of flying with a pair of wings 
 of his own making, took off from the topmost wall 
 of Stirling Castle before that enterprising monarch 
 and his assembled Court, and arrived with exceeding 
 suddenness at the foot thereof, "the quhilke he hitt 
 so hardily," as a contemporary chronicler states. 
 Miraculously escaping death, he solemnly assured 
 James that the sole reason for his failure was that 
 he had basely trimmed his wings with feathers of 
 a less noble fowl, instead of having used eagles' 
 pinions ! 
 
 These sentiments as expressed to Hunt seemed to 
 
 II
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 pain him, but then he is by way of being an inventor 
 himself, and, like most almost-but-not-quite geniuses, 
 an interesting talker unless mounted and off on a 
 hobby-horse. Flying was in its cradle and BMriot 
 still on his own side of the Channel that Saturday 
 afternoon when we journeyed in a packed suburban 
 train to the entrance of a park, lent or hired for the 
 occasion, where, according to the poster which with 
 Hunt had lured me thither, one " Bazley, the 
 Lancashire Lion," would positively fly. 
 
 The crowd, sprinkled here and there with callow- 
 looking youths of the technical college type, were 
 mostly decent workmen in their best clothes, while 
 very occasionally one noticed a middle-aged business 
 man greet a friend with the self-conscious, half- 
 ashamed air of Britons on such occasions, remarking, 
 " What's brought yoti here ? " for all the world as 
 though they had encountered each other on the door- 
 step of Madame Aline in Marseilles, and receiving 
 the same reply in the name of national hypocrisy, 
 " Just curiosity." 
 
 " Mair folk here than ah'd ha' thocht," remarked 
 a stoutish man in our compartment, as he jerked a 
 small boy in a velvet suit off the seat to make room 
 for us, adding : " Aye, an' maistly o' the artesian class 
 tae. Man, ah like tae see that : it shows an inquirin' 
 mind. No' that ah'm very much taen up wi' the 
 notion o' this avviation business, as they ca' it 
 masel' : 'seems a sort o' flyin' in the face o' Providence 
 an' fit tae bring a judgment upon a man." And he 
 shook his head solemnly and went on : " No' that 
 ah'm very rileegious masel', no, but ah mind there's 
 
 12
 
 A Meeting 
 
 a word or twa anent it in the Book so mebbc it's 
 
 jist ordained tae come like maist ither things. Ah 
 
 see ye're admirin' ma watch an' chain," he continued, 
 
 and although his statement was not strictly accurate, 
 
 I confess to having glanced at an amazingly large 
 
 and raspingly new gold cable with a species of 
 
 medallion attachment which stretched across his 
 
 waistcoat. He explained : " A preesentation frae 
 
 the firm last Sa'urday, ye'll see ma name on't richt 
 
 enough, John Macaig, an' a brooch fur the wife tae. 
 
 She'd ha' been wi's the day, but a guid-sister's ower 
 
 frae Camslang — an' this umbrelly forbye, wi' an 
 
 inscreeption tae." " It's umbrellaw you should say) 
 
 papa, no' umbrelly," interjected the velvet-clad urchin 
 
 whom I had quite unintentionally dispossessed of 
 
 his seat. Instead of boxing his ears, or indulging 
 
 in any of the various other well-recognised signs of 
 
 parental authority in public, the fond father patted 
 
 a velvet shoulder, remarking : "That's you, Oswald, 
 
 aye keepin' the auld man richt. A proper yin fur his 
 
 books is Oswald," he added, turning to me. " Man, 
 
 it's a grand thing eddycation and pro-gress. Ah'm 
 
 gaun tae pit 'im till the coalidge, aye, an' ah can 
 
 afford it tae." I considered the budding collegian. 
 
 Pale and puny in contrast with his sturdy sire, with 
 
 a bulging forehead and malevolent eyes peering 
 
 through thick spectacles, which a bridgeless button 
 
 of a nose, suggesting a throw-back to some tainted 
 
 forbear, barely supported, his pendulous under lip 
 
 seemed to suggest that he had already quarrelled 
 
 with life. Fortunately the journey was short, 
 
 yet although his part in the day's proceedings 
 
 13
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 was a minor one, and his exterior unheroic, we 
 must note Oswald, for later, albeit unasked, he 
 shouldered another's suffering : " Greater love hath 
 no man ..." 
 
 Following the others, we trooped out of the station 
 and passed through the lodge entrance to the domain. 
 An astonishingly large crowd trudged up the avenue 
 and, debouching into an oval fifty-acre park, sur- 
 rounded by trees, we marched with those who had 
 already arrived. As we headed up the field a 
 husky-voiced Cockney showman-like person with 
 outstretched arms faced us with exhortations to keep 
 to the sides of the park and give the "hay viator" 
 room, so we docilely kept to the line of trees till we 
 found ourselves at the farther end, where, perched on 
 a slight rise, we saw a spidery contraption sitting in 
 front of a marquee, which doubtless housed the 
 " lion," as the only person apparently attached to 
 the show was a sad-looking individual who strolled 
 round the machine, and from time to time mechanic- 
 ally requested no one in particular to stand away. 
 Hunt, the irrepressible seeker after knowledge, 
 promptly disappeared into the marquee. In an 
 ordinary person this would have been put down to a 
 quest for free drinks, on the strength of being related 
 to the estate factor, or some such apocryphal role, 
 just as in happy bygone days a high colour and a 
 pair of leggings was a sure passport to limitless 
 libations at any stall in an agricultural show, but 
 Hunt has a mind above such things. He is possessed 
 of that inquiring mentality which is the source of all 
 scientific discovery, and it is an abiding testimony to 
 
 14
 
 A Meeting 
 
 his prowess that instead of coming out hurriedly on 
 his ear he presently emerged with our aviator, and 
 leading the hapless star turn to his own machine, the 
 pair were instantly involved in a wordy battle of 
 struts and stresses. Feeling slightly bored, I strolled 
 about, wondering why on earth I had allowed myself 
 to be dragged to a performance in which I had no 
 interest, when I recalled our talkative acquaintance 
 of the train, and speculated as to where he had got 
 to. Oddly enough, just at that moment I noticed 
 the worthy citizen in conversation with a person who 
 had a familiar look. A mild partiality for interesting 
 and entertaining if at times doubtful company is 
 apt occasionally to have its drawbacks, and in Mister 
 Macaig's new companion I recognised one of my less 
 reputable acquaintances who, passing through the 
 stages of newsboy and hanger-on at sporting clubs, 
 where he was always willing to take a non-appearing 
 contestant's place in the ring and cheerfully allow 
 himself to be hammered for a few half-sovereigns — 
 for science he had none — had finally developed into 
 bookmaker's runner, tic-tac worker and general get- 
 a-bit at provincial race-meetings, besides, I fear, 
 other less ostensibly honest walks of life. His proud 
 boast was that the only blot on his escutcheon — 
 seven days without the option — was due to magisterial 
 spite, assuring you of his innocence, "honest t'God, 
 sir." My advancing years and the irksome burden 
 of respectability had almost removed Slattery, as he 
 called himself, from my ken, except when, at long 
 intervals, he would buttonhole me for a small sum, 
 which the cheerful rascal referred to as a loan, as 
 
 15
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 between friends, frankly disdaining the whining 
 appeal of the professional cadger, and inevitably 
 addressing one as " Captain," just as your Parisian 
 sponger of the rive droite begins by greeting one as 
 ^'Mon prince^ Dressed in sober black, he looked so 
 douce as he listened to Macaig's volubility that I 
 wondered if he had " found religion," but the char- 
 acter of the wink which the rogue, spotting me 
 instantly, had the audacity to favour me with settled 
 that point and hastened my movements, for I had a 
 painful memory of having once been loudly claimed 
 by him as a friend who would testify to his good 
 intentions as he was being hustled out of a restaurant 
 he had slipped into, apparently to sell cut flowers, 
 a bunch of which he displayed prominently, stolen 
 doubtless from some cemetery. 
 
 Packed tramcars and, less frequently, crowded 
 trains were still disgorging their freights at the park 
 entrance towards which the ground sloped gradually 
 down from the end at which our lion had made his 
 lair, and as the hopeful sightseers, under the direction 
 of the arm-waving showman, whom I could descry 
 still performing, grouped themselves round the out- 
 skirts of the oval, the absurd label of lion suggested 
 the parallel of an arena, except that, failing satis- 
 faction, it was the lion who stood to provide the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Few women and fewer children, the crowds of 
 grey-capped artisans, the backbone of the wastland 
 Scot, ever interested in something new, due perhaps 
 to the quick brain produced by a Celtic infusion 
 which has resulted in a type swarthier and lighter in 
 i6
 
 A Meeting 
 
 bone than the eastern counties show, lacking perhaps 
 the h'ghter graces which make the southerner of 
 these isles more approachable and readily com- 
 panionable, strode along for the most part in dour 
 silence, for which one wondered whether Calvinistic 
 repression, or climate, or both were responsible, yet 
 covering a mental alertness hard to match, which 
 has made for the Clyde and all its works a name 
 that is literally a household word throughout the 
 world. 
 
 As the arrivals thinned off, the semaphoring 
 impresario started to make a hurried circle of the 
 ground, urging the people to keep well back. At 
 the outset, however, the sophisticated gentleman 
 must have realised that he had struck a corner of 
 the globe where gold bricks do not sell readily. 
 " What the hell d'ye need room on the grund fur if 
 yer man's gaun up ? " asked one. " We'll gaun intae 
 the next field if ye like : ye'll get a' the room ye 
 want, but look see here, we didnae pey a shillin' an' 
 wur cawr fare forbye tae see yon yin runnin' aboot 
 like a rahbbit. We're here tae see um fleein', d'ye 
 understaun' ? " As I watched the manager person 
 pass on without replying, indeed I followed him, I 
 could see that while not understanding he appeared 
 to comprehend. These were no easy-going, giggling 
 southerners, ready to treat it as a joke if the gold 
 brick were found to be lead, nor excitable Latins, 
 ready to fly off at a tangent, tear up benches with 
 screams of '^ Rejnbot-crsez ! " and as quickly subside, 
 but the descendants of a race whose forbears had 
 literally to fight for existence. Hard-headed, 
 B 17
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 stubborn and independent, yet strangely ready to 
 offer their lives in a sentimental cause or for a 
 question of religion. Brought up on facts, the 
 position to them was elementally simple. They had 
 paid honestly earned money — perhaps I ought to 
 make an exception of my friend Slattery, still, one 
 never knows — to see a man fly ; they doubted if he 
 could, but if he did, well and good, that was the 
 contract ; if not, then the position might require to 
 be gone into, and that part of their attitude the 
 impresario evidently did grasp, for I observed that 
 after this first attempt he avoided close contact and 
 steered a zigzag course up the centre of the park, 
 shouting through his hands trumpet-wise, with much 
 shooing and waving movements. The "lion" was 
 still standing where I had left him with Hunt at his 
 machine, surrounded by a straggling circle of people, 
 and judging from the absent-minded way in which 
 he responded to Hunt's chatter, he too seemed to 
 be feeling the draught and apparently had heard 
 remarks which had not made his day seem any 
 brighter. As his colleague came up the pair dis- 
 appeared inside the marquee and after a moment 
 reappeared, the "lion," who was a stockily built, fair- 
 haired, pink-and-white little man, being in his shirt- 
 sleeves. After some preliminaries he entered the 
 punt-shaped fuselage, as it came to be called later, 
 Hunt following so closely that I thought he was 
 going in also, fiddled with some gadgets, waved his 
 hand or blew his nose or some such signal, and two 
 assistants began a shoving match at the back of the 
 contraption. They got it started, and running with it 
 l8
 
 A Meeting 
 
 as it gathered way down the slope, the spidery object 
 finally beat them for speed and careered down the 
 park, making as much attempt to rise as a runaway 
 perambulator. At the farthest boundary end it 
 stopped, the " lion " emerged, while the two assistants 
 trotted down after him and commenced to wheel the 
 alleged flying machine back. It looked like an oft- 
 repeated performance. Not a sound from the crowd. 
 No one voiced any approval or disapproval, and not 
 a man moved unless to relight his pipe or shift his 
 weight from one leg to another and spit. The little 
 gentleman had stated that he would fly. They, 
 having paid to see him do so, would wait; the day 
 was fine. 
 
 This horrid silence apparently moved the hero to 
 some effort, for the second attempt resulted in his 
 rising quite five feet several times, the spin down 
 reminding one of a spaniel with flapping ears running 
 a rabbit in heavy going. Again and yet again and 
 a fifth time did the contrivance bump down the 
 park : of flying there was no sign, and the only 
 break in the monotony was when, in the fifth run 
 off, one of the assistants, hanging on too long, 
 stumbled and fell, tripping up his co-shover. On 
 rising, an angry altercation ensued, the pair only just 
 failing to come to blows, to the evident disappoint- 
 ment of the crowd, which shouted encouragement as 
 small boys will to two growling dogs. This time 
 the " lion " left his non-flying machine where it had 
 stopped and started to walk back. Quietly and 
 without fuss, groups of the spectators strolled 
 across and headed him off. One individual planted 
 
 19
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 himself before him and opened fire : " Whaur d'ye 
 think ye're gaun ? Are ye no' gaun up?" "It's no 
 use," answered the lad fra' Lanes, " there's something 
 wrong with the machine." " Is that so ? " persisted 
 the other. "An' what's the maitter?" "Oh, you 
 wouldn't understand," testily remarked the aviator. 
 " Would ah no' ? Look see here. Ah'm an engineer, 
 so jist you come awa' back an' show us." " Aye, 
 show 'um," spake those round them. Clearly seeing 
 his number in the frame, the flyer allowed himself 
 to be escorted back to his bus, round which a group 
 had collected. " Stand richt back," shouted the soi- 
 disant engineer, " an' gie the man a fair chance," and 
 the spectators obediently enough fell back. Before, 
 however, anything could be done, the manager pushed 
 through the press with the two starters at his heels. 
 A hurried word with the performer and the im- 
 presario, removing his hat with a flourish, began 
 in the practised showman manner, " Ladies and 
 gentlemen, I am compelled to ask your indulgence 
 for Mr Bazley," when he was interrupted by a gust 
 of many voices : " Aw shut yur face ! If the man's 
 no' gaun up gie's back wur money afore the pubs 
 closes ! " Probably a futile request, as the member 
 of the trinity who, like Matthew, had sat at the 
 receipt of custom was doubtless by that time safely 
 back in the city looking up the next train home. 
 Once more the showman tried to start his harangue, 
 but only with the same result, and the situation 
 seemed full of interesting possibilities, especially as 
 one side of the park was bounded by a particularly 
 filthy-looking stream, quite deep enough for the 
 
 20
 
 A Meeting 
 
 purpose various of the onlookers loudly suggested it 
 should be put to, when the strain was eased by the 
 appearance of a person who had clearly looked upon 
 the wine of the country when it was yellow. Clapping 
 a fist on the " lion's " shoulder, he birled him round 
 and roared at him : " Here ! Div you ca' yersel' 
 an avviator?" "Certainly," replied the pride of 
 Lancashire, " I'm an aviator." " Aivey this, aivey 
 that," shouted the inebriated one, "yuh're a damt 
 lie, yuh're naethin' but a bloody grasshopper!" 
 
 Stung by this statement and the shout of laughter 
 that greeted it, and possibly fearing lynching, the 
 lad fra' Lanes called his helpers and spinning the 
 machine round they started it towards the starting- 
 point. The whole enterprise was at stake, and the 
 lion probably realised that he had to produce some 
 sort of roar or risk his hide. So back they toddled, 
 the crowd splitting and edging out to the sides. 
 
 Wasting no time over preliminaries, they shoved 
 the outfit off once more, and this time, whether from 
 accident or design, it positively rose and remained 
 up, to the accompaniment of sardonic laughter. A 
 yard — two — three — five yards up it merrily buzzed, 
 then whether the " lion " lost his head or his heart 
 or the long-suffering bus had overtaxed its strength 
 matters little to-day. What did matter then was 
 that it slewed over and in a second was down. The 
 " lion " stepped out unhurt and surveyed the ruin. 
 The crowd metaphorically shrugged its shoulders 
 and turned away. The meeting was over. 
 
 An agonised bellow behind us, for Hunt had 
 rejoined me, made us turn to find Mister Macaig 
 
 21
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 of the train in a transport of despair. "They've 
 gotten ma watch an' chain ! " he yelled into space. 
 " Don't say 'gotten,' papa, it's 'got,'" corrected little 
 Oswald. " Aw shurrup, yuh young deevil ! " roared 
 the bereft parent. " Who are ' they ' ? " I asked, not, 
 I fear, that I needed to, my glimpse of Slattery 
 seemed to settle the destination of the missing 
 gauds and point a moral as to the vain adorning 
 of the person, but the unhappy man seemed to 
 address me. " Ah divent ken," he bleated, and 
 once more Oswald the purist came into the picture- 
 
 " You diven't know, you mean, pa " but the lesson 
 
 remained unfinished. "Yuh young bastart ! " fairly 
 screamed the frenzied father, unintentionally slander- 
 ing himself in his rage, while grabbing his erudite 
 offspring by the Little Lord Fauntleroy collar, and 
 as he raised his presentation umbrella Oswald 
 quite involuntarily entered on his sacrificial duties 
 as whipping-boy for an absent stranger. 
 
 As we passed out, Hunt began: "Now I know 
 why he can't rise ; he has got neither sufficient 
 
 velocity nor span. You see " But quite gently 
 
 I stopped him : the meeting was over and far away 
 along the tram lines in the distance I saw a swiftly 
 moving black figure that I seemed to recognise, 
 rapidly overhauling a disappearing tramcar. 
 
 22
 
 ''Scots IVha Hae'' 
 
 He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes, to Scotland, and 
 
 concludes in hearty prayers. 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 THE "Victory" Grand National had been 
 run, and that great horse, Poethlyn, had 
 carried the top weight to victory with 
 consummate ease. The Liverpool hotel smoking- 
 room was packed with hot, flushed, strident-voiced 
 sporting men — which is not quite the same thing 
 as sportsmen — and the waiters never knew an idle 
 moment. 
 
 In the corner farthest from the door a little 
 coterie of sycophants surrounded The Nabob. 
 Coarse, swollen and unlovely, his overdressed appear- 
 ance and fine linen striking a painful note in contrast 
 to his unwashed paws, there was yet that in the 
 man's shaven face which arrested the attention, and 
 made one think of Tammany bosses, who, going 
 over, through, or under, seldom failed to reach the 
 other side safely. 
 
 A prominent " layer," the deference of his cronies 
 was their outward testimony to his success — your 
 professional racing gentleman wastes no time pay- 
 ing court to failures. Although the favourite had 
 won the big race, he had had a good day and was 
 graciously pleased to unbend in reminiscence. 
 
 " Wonder wye you never does the Scotch meetings, 
 George ? " remarked one of the circle, and was pro- 
 ceeding to explain his reason for wondering when 
 simultaneous kicks landing on his ankles from his 
 immediate neighbours, and the deepening scowl on 
 the face of George, otherwise known as The Nabob, 
 
 23
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 made him, literally, painfully aware that he had 
 dropped a brick. 
 
 " If I thought you was tryin' to come it on me, 
 me lad," growled the big man slowly, when he was 
 interrupted by a chorus of apologetic assurances. 
 Mollified, The Nabob noisily finished his drink, drew 
 the back of a hand across his mouth and grabbed 
 a passing waiter. " Same again all round, an' bring 
 the cigars," he called. 
 
 His august health having been drunk, by no one 
 with more fervour than the unhappy questioner, who, 
 under cover of the waiter's arrival with his well-laden 
 tray, was fiercely cursed sotto voce by the others, fear- 
 ing an untimely stoppage of their host's bounty, The 
 Nabob settled himself in his chair, sucked heavily at 
 his cigar and, in a voice hoarse with years of shouting 
 and rich living, began impressively : " I've only bin 
 in Scotland oncet — an' that's round twenty year ago. 
 I've never bin back since, but swelp me gawd, if ever 
 I do go, it'll be to commit murder. 'Owsomever, as 
 you, me lad, don't seem to know yer 'istory, I don't 
 mind lettin' yer 'ave the facts, as a warnin'. 
 
 " Me an' Bert Fryer, wot none on ye won't 
 remember as " 
 
 " Yoong Bert Fryer ! " exclaimed one of his 
 audience. " Wye, ah moind on 'im w'en 'e wor a yoong 
 laad : 'e wOr born not a 'oondred yaards from w'ere 
 ah lived woon toime i' Oodersfeald, an' " 
 
 " Oh, shut yer face, yer blinkin' Sheffielder," blared 
 The Nabob angrily. " 'Oo in 'ell wants ter '^z.x yew ? " 
 
 For a second an ugly gleam showed in the assailed 
 one's eyes, and for another second he thought of 
 
 24
 
 " Scots IFha Hae " 
 
 plashing his drink in the overbearing bully's face, 
 but the earliest lesson your racing parasite learns is 
 the futility of yielding to impulse. After all, he re- 
 flected, racing has its ups and downs : his turn might 
 come, so he mumbled an apology and George took 
 up his tale afresh, 
 
 " Yes, as I was sayin', me an' Bert 'ad bin workin' 
 the northern meetings that autumn, 'im doin' the 
 clerkin' an' goin' 'alves in the book, an' not 'avin' bin 
 doin' too well, we decides to go on wiv some o' the 
 crowd as was goin' to that there land of 'ope and 
 glory, an' tearin' a bit off the natives. We starts at 
 Ayr and gets broke right off the reel, one favrit after 
 another rollin' up. Yes, me an' Bert fairly gets it in 
 the neck at Ayr, but we borrows enough to open the 
 book again at Paisley an' sorter 'eld our own there. 
 Then we goes on to a place they calls Lanarick or 
 some such, but lor ! they was bettin' in thrippenny 
 bits there, so we finally lands at Musselburgh sufferin' 
 sore from financial cramp. 
 
 " Musselburgh ! Blimey, to this day it gives me 
 a pain inside if I as much as sees a mussel, an' fer 
 years the sight of a whelk-barrer fair turned me sick, 
 Yer knows the place most on yer : wot they calls 
 a prosp'rous fishin' town, outside Edinburgh, wiv the 
 track runnin' round a golf-course on the shore an' 
 'ouses at the near end. 
 
 " Well, me an' Bert manages to raise a bit more 
 an' takes up our pitch in the silver ring. But lor ! 
 when yer luck's out it's hout, an' that's all there's to 
 it, an' each race leaves me an' Bert worse an' worse, 
 till, when the second last race was run, we was 
 
 25
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 cleaned out proper. I was fer borrowin' a quid Irom 
 'Arry Bates an' goin' straight back to Edinburgh an' 
 drinkin' meself silly, but Bert wouldn't 'ave it. So 
 'e unfolds 'is little scheme, an' many a time that day 
 I wished I'd choked 'im instead o' listenin' to 'im. 
 
 " We was oppersit the grand stand and the ring 
 across the track, an' back of us was the small stand, 
 an' back o' that again was a long row o' layers 
 bettin' in rags, bones an' drippin' wiv the simple an' 
 unserfisticated native. So Bert's bright idea was as 
 we should 'ump the box right down to the end o' 
 this row, which stretched diagonal across the course 
 nearly touchin' the rails on that side. 
 
 "There was only two runners in the last race, an' 
 as George M'Coll was ridin' one, which was pretty 
 certain to be favrit, we was to lay the outsider all 
 ends up, wotever we could get 'em to take an' chance 
 it, Bert arguin' that if so as it didn't come off, we'd 
 be runnin' away from their 'appy 'omes, an' them 
 flounder-footed mussel-catchers wouldn't be like to 
 foller us far. Now, Bert could move a bit, an' as I 
 could leg it a bit meself in them days, I gives in." 
 
 " Ah, you wor aalways pooty good aal round, 
 George," said the persistent gentleman from Sheffield, 
 in a praiseworthy endeavour to recover the market. 
 
 "There wasn't much I couldn't 'andle in me young 
 days," said the gratified ex-athlete. " Touch the bell." 
 
 A harassed waiter having done his part, The 
 Nabob resumed : 
 
 "Well, along we goes, an', as I thought, little 
 George's mount was favrit. Five to one they was 
 layin' in the ring against the other, an' we was givin' 
 26
 
 " Scots Wha Hae " 
 
 the locals up to tens ; pretty soon we 'ad as much in 
 the satchel as would 'ave 'eld down a balloon, but 
 wot worried me was that as they brassed up their 
 bobs an' arf-dollars they stopped wiv us. Just 'ung 
 round starin' wiv their 'ands in them cross-cut 
 britches pockets as they uses, an' there they stands. 
 
 " Wot bewties they was ! Great 'ulking brewts, 
 all cheek-bones an' feet — an' wot feet ! Like them 
 foldin'-down beds as we uster git in the cheap 
 dosses at the Brighton meetin's. 
 
 " Well, there we was an' there they was. W^hen 
 the 'osses starts an' come round be'ind us, I sees 
 the outsider was only canterin', an' I looks at Bert, 
 an' Bert looks at me, an' I sees somethin' desprit 'as 
 got to be done. So I passes a wink to 'im, an' just 
 as they was comin' up the straight together I starts 
 a cry, * The favrit wins ! The favrit wins ! A 
 skinner ! I never laid it ! ' and Bert, who was dam 
 quick to pick anything up, 'e turns an' grabs me 
 fist, shoutin', ' Well done, George ! ' 
 
 " So this seems to 'urt the feelin's o' them yokels, 
 an' they clusters together an' sorter moves towards 
 the winnin' post. Not as they 'ad an earthly o' 
 gettin' there, but bein' that dam greedy, they was 
 edgin' up to where they thought the scene o' their 
 misfortunes was, so to speak. 
 
 "Wiv that I passes the satchel quite slow an' 
 confident to Bert, 'im bein', as I've said, pretty 'ot 
 stuff at sprintin', an' just as we could see the two 
 caps bobbin' past the post, over the 'eads o' the 
 crowd, the outsider winnin' easy — we 'ops it. 
 
 " We gets a bit of a start before them Johnnie- 
 
 2^
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 raws spots wot's 'appened ; then they lets out one 
 despairin' 'owl an' comes after us. Straight down 
 this 'ere Hnks, as they calls it, we runs, an' after their 
 first 'owl, them 'eathens never gives tongue. Gawd ! 
 I can feel it all yet. When we was runnin', I re- 
 membered one o' Spikey Nurton's yarns — 'im as was 
 up at Klondyke — about them there timber-wolves 
 'untin' in packs, an' runnin' mute, as 'e put it. It 
 'elped me along a yard or two that rekerlekshun did, 
 I can tell yer. An' thinkin' on wolves an' things 
 an' lookin' apprehensive over me shoulder, 1 never 
 notices a great yawnin' sand-'ole till I falls slap 
 inter it. One o' them places where they puts them 
 as is learnin' this golf business, so as they won't 'arm 
 nobody, an' 'ead over 'eels in I tumbles, Bert, 'avin' 
 seen it in time, swingin' round by the end. Through 
 it I goes, wiv 'underweights o' sand in me eyes an' 
 me boots an' down me collar, an' be sugared if the 
 far side of it wasn't lined wiv railway sleepers on 
 end. Wot a country ! 
 
 "'Owsomever, I realises as I'm running fer me life, 
 so over I scrambles some'ow, and as them blinkin' 
 savages 'ad 'ad to come round the end, same as Bert, 
 we 'ad still a bit in 'and. Keepin' together, we ducks 
 under the rail, crosses the track, ducks under the 
 other, an' on we runs wiv not a sound from them 
 feroshus 'eather-Jocks bar the clumpin' o' their feet 
 — an' I've told yer wot they was like. 
 
 " On we sprints, increasin' our lead 'andsome, an' 
 feelin' we was goin' to bring it off, when out o' the 
 ground from nowhere springs two young blighters 
 wiv no 'ats, bare knees, an' red stockin's. ' Take 'im 
 28
 
 " Scots JVha Hae " 
 
 low, Hughie ! ' sings out one, an' wiv that the other, 
 a ginger-'eaded little devil, makes a flyin' dive at 
 Bert's legs, an' the pair on 'em does a regular Catherine 
 wheel. The satchel bursts open, an' our 'ard-earned 
 spondulicks goes buzzin' all over the place. 
 
 " An 'arf-dollar catches me in the eye, just as the 
 other limb o' Satan plays the cop-'im-low touch on 
 me, but I sees wot 'as 'appened to Bert, so I swerves 
 an' catches 'im a back'ander. Just as I done that I 
 trips over a rock, an' goes swoosh all me length in 
 the sea, rippin' the seat and 'arf one o' the legs out 
 o' me trousers. I struggles to me knees, coughin' up 
 pints an' pints o' nasty salt water, an' I'd just found 
 me feet, 'oldin' on to wot was left o' me trousers, 
 when a lump o' turf as big as a steak-an'-kidney 
 puddin' gets me fair on the side o' me 'ead, an' bowls 
 me over again. I gets up, proper ragin' mad, an' was 
 just makin' a rush at this young swine when I 
 realises that the crowd as 'ad come up wasn't goin' 
 to 'ave that. One 'arf o' them murderin' 'Ottentots 
 was pullin' pore old Bert to ribbons an' pickin' up 
 our money, an' the other 'arf comes along the shore, 
 tearin' it up by the roots an' 'eavin' it at me, led on 
 by this young blighter wiv no 'at. Stones an' turf 
 an' them flat bottles which all them 'eathens puts in 
 their 'ip pockets regular of a mornin', same as the 
 Dook o' Portland 'ud say to 'is valley : ' Fill me 
 
 cigar-case.'" 
 
 "But wot was they, George?" asked one horrified 
 listener. 
 
 " Oh, I found out after wot they was, all right," 
 answered The Nabob. " There's a wicked old man 
 
 29
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 in them parts as runs a semingnary fer young toffs. 
 'E trains 'em special to go about wiv their 'eads an' 
 their knees 'an gawd knows wot else bare : feeds 'em 
 on iron filings an' other strengthenin' foods, an' turns 
 'em out as big as men an' strong as bull calves. An' 
 them two, instead o' being indoors nice an' proper, 
 doin' their little sums an' writin' up their copy-books, 
 'ad sneaked out to see the racin', an', out o' pure 
 
 cussedness, interferes wiv me an' Bert, just as we 
 
 Oh, dammit ! touch that bell," and, overcome by the 
 recollection, he spat fiercely and drained his glass. 
 
 The waiter having filled in the pause, he 
 continued : 
 
 " Every time I tries to get ashore they starts 
 volleyin' at me. Forchinately the water wasn't deep, 
 so I could get outer range wivout 'avin' to swim, 
 which I can't do, but, gostrewth ! think of it. Me 
 best pal murdered before me very eyes by them 
 cannibals : me up to me middle in the sea wiv 'arf 
 me trousers gone an' bung full o' sand an' sickenin' 
 salt water, an' no prospect o' gettin' out wiv 'undreds 
 an' 'undreds of 'em waitin' to kill me. 
 
 '"Owsomever, I couldn't live there, so I starts to 
 move on a bit, but blimey ! if they didn't follow me 
 up. Twicet I pitches into 'oles an' goes over me 
 'ead, them reptiles cheerin' like 'ell each time. Wot 
 a country ! Well, this goes on, me workin' along the 
 beach, an' after it come down darkish they petered 
 off, an' I gets ashore 'arf dead, among some rocks an' 
 'ouses, 'avin' come right the 'ole length o' the course 
 in the water. 
 
 "Perishin' wiv cold, I sets down where I can't be 
 
 30
 
 " Scots Wha Hae " 
 
 seen an' takes stock o' the situation, so to speak. I 
 was examinin' me rewined trousers when I spots a 
 pair 'angin' up on a rope in a backyard sort o' place. 
 Well, thinks I, that's a start, anyhow, an' as soon as 
 it was proper dark I nips in an' 'as 'em, an' drags 
 'em on over me own. Strike me lucky if I don't 
 think they must 'ave bin made fer a blinkin' elephant. 
 'Owsomever, they covered me, an' I feels better 
 already." 
 
 " Ah, you wor aalways a good-plooked 'un, 
 George," chipped in the determined Sheffielder. 
 
 " Well, anyhow, I 'ad to get a move on, but I was 
 fair dyin' fer just — one — drink. Of course I 'adn't 
 a bean, but creepin' along in the shadows, the 
 streets bein' quiet, I spots a nice little pub. I looks 
 in — empty, an' only a lad in charge, rubbin' up some 
 glasses. I knew 'e couldn't leave the place, so in 
 I goes. ' Evenin', matey,' I sez, as 'earty-like as I 
 could on me diet o' sand an' salts, ' glass o* whisky,* 
 makin' believe to dive fer me pocket wiv the 'and as 
 wasn't 'oldin' up the yards o' the slack o' me pants. 
 'E looks funny-like at me, but sets down the drink, 
 which I grabs an' tosses off neat. Fair scorched me 
 throat, it did, but I can feel the effect o' that life- 
 savin' drink now. Then I gathers 'e's sayin' some- 
 thin', though 'eavin know wot gibberish 'e was 
 gettin' rid of." 
 
 " It's a dialec' them Scotties speaks, same as the 
 Maoris an' that lot," said a travelled member of his 
 audience. 
 
 " P'raps you're right, but I wasn't stoppin' there 
 long enough to learn it. I sees it was up to me to 
 
 31
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 make a quick get-away, so I turns round an' pretends 
 to spot some pals through the glass door — starts an 
 imagingnary conversation through the door which I 
 'arf opened, then slips out an' runs like 'ell, 'oldin' me 
 pants in me two 'ands. I did 'ear the pore lad 
 callin' out doleful, but I knew as 'e couldn't leave 
 the place, so I gets away safe over a bridge. Still 
 keepin' in the shadows, I soon gets clear o' the 
 blasted death-trap. I sees lights ahead : miles an' 
 miles ahead. I wasn't sure of me direction, but as 
 it was suicide to try the railway station I trudges on 
 in the dark. I passes dwellin'-'ouses now an' then, 
 but by keepin' well down by the shore I gets through 
 all right. Then I passes a pier like Brighton, but 
 nothin' lookin' like Edinburgh. Finally I strikes a 
 road wot didn't seem to 'ave no beginnin' nor no 
 end, wiv no lamps, an' 'undreds an' thousands o' rats 
 squealin' all over the place an' me alone. Proper 
 terrified I was, I give yer me word, but the thought 
 o' them cannibals behind pushed me on. I crosses a 
 railway line an' presently strikes streets again. I 
 passes one or two likely pubs, but on poppin' me 
 'ead in I sees it wasn't no place fer me — crowded 
 to the door they was wiv people singin' an' fightin', 
 so I drags on me weary way till I comes to a bit o' 
 grass an' a flag-pole an two or three streets convergin', 
 the place as lively as a cemetery, that quiet it was. 
 I sets down on a doorstep, an' when a rozzer comes 
 up I was that done in, I didn't try to get away. 
 
 " 'E considers me fer a bit, turnin' 'is lantern on 
 me, then 'e starts 'is gibberish. ' Wor did ye git they 
 claze,' was wot 'e sez, an' I can remember it word fer 
 
 32
 
 " Scots TFha Hae " 
 
 word now, fer 'e kep' on repeatin' of it, but wot in 
 'ell 'e meant fair beat me, till 'e starts 'andlin' me 
 'orrible britches, then I rumbles. I starts pitchin' a 
 tale about 'avin' bin shipwrecked, when svvelp me 'e 
 turns 'is lantern off an' starts laughin'. I must 'ave 
 bin a sight too, but imagine a Scotchman seein' a 
 joke. So we gets matey, as far as people speakin' 
 different langwidges can, an' I sez, ' Friends — 
 Edinburgh.' 'Oh, Edinburry?' 'e sez, an' e starts 
 explainin' an' pointin', an' I gathers 'e's tellin' me 
 where it lays an' that I've gotter take a tram car 
 — 'cawr''e called it — an' may I die, when I gets 
 'im ter understand as I'm stony broke, if 'e doesn't 
 shake out a deuce o' browns an' 'ands 'em over still 
 chucklin'. That's somethin' to remember, a blinkin' 
 Scotchman givin' away money. 
 
 " Presently I sees an antideloovian bus shovin' a 
 pair o' crocks along the rails in the middle o' the 
 street, so on I gets, an' not desirin' much attention, 
 I goes outside an' sets there shiverin', an' cursin' me 
 luck, an' thinkin' about pore Bert, an' all the while 
 we goes miles an' miles up a great dam 'ill wiv 
 'undreds o' pubs on both sides o' this everlastin' 
 street, which was crowded wiv people fightin' an' 
 singin'. Wot a country ! 
 
 " After stoppin' a few times to take out the 'arf- 
 dead nags an' 'itch on more, we reaches the top, 
 doin' the last 'arf-mile at a walk — an' me dyin' wiv 
 cold. Then I reckernises the Register 'Ouse, an' 
 I knew as I'd find me pals at the little club at the 
 back, but the trouble was 'ow to get there. There 
 was millions an' millions more people about, all 
 
 c 33
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 drunk an' all singin' an' fightin', so I 'opes to slip 
 through wivout attractin' much notice to meself — 
 but nothin' doin'. A couple o' newsboys spots me 
 an' starts a tallyo, an' in 'arf-a-mo' we 'as a crowd 
 round like an execution, an' me playin' principal 
 boy, A couple of rozzers comes through an' grabs 
 me, an' was just marchin' me off, when up comes 
 Danny Sullivan. Wot 'e said or done I dunno, but 
 'e was always smart enough to whisper the fleas off 
 a dog's ear, so 'e gets me away, chokin' wiv laughin', 
 an' shoves me in a quiet doorway. 
 
 "'George,' sez 'e, shakin' all over like a lump o' 
 potted meat, ' wot's 'appened ?' So I tells 'im, brief. 
 ' George,' sez 'e, fishin' out a bundle o' them Scotch 
 notes, an' peelin' off five, ' there's a fiver, straight, if 
 you'll come up to the club an' let the boys see yer as 
 you are! Well, I was tryin' to go there anyway, so I 
 reckon that was me first bit o' luck. Up 'e 'elps 
 me, an' never in me life did I 'ear such a scream o' 
 laughter as went up when I goes in. Nobody 'adn't 
 'eard anything o'pore Bert, so I'd given 'im up, when 
 I runs across 'im at Gosforth Park a bit later, lookin' 
 the pictur' o' misery in a suit 'e'd borrowed, which 
 was three sizes too big. 'E 'ad a face like a rainbow, 
 'is left arm in a sHng, an' 'im limpin' about, leanin' 
 'eavy on a stick. ' George,' 'e whispers, lookin' at 
 me dismal outer 'is one eye as wasn't bunged up, an' 
 shakin' 'is 'ead solemn, ' I'm through wiv racin" — an' 
 'e was. They'd a whip round fer 'im soon after, an' 
 he went off to New Zealand that same month. 
 
 " Well, I never gives up 'ope o' gettin' square wiv 
 that there schoolmaster, an' when them suffridge 
 
 34
 
 " Scots JVha Hae " 
 
 wimmin starts burnin' 'ouses down I thinks I sees 
 me chance. So one day I takes a 'ansom down to 
 their place in Lincoln's Inn an' looks in, an' sez I 
 wants to ^ive 'em a 'andsome subscripshun. Lumme, 
 funds must 'ave bin low, fer they was all over me, 
 some 'arf-dozen on 'em, but when I sez wot I wants 
 done in return for it, they fair sets about me wiv 
 their tongues, 'eaded by one purple-faced old 'en. 
 Knowin' wot they was capable of, I beats a 'asty 
 retreat, this crimson rambler 'ard after me, callin' 
 out fer me to be ashamed o' meself. ' It's you men,' 
 she yells — 'strewth ! I thought she'd be stickin' a 
 'atpin inter me if I wasn't dam quick. 'It's you men 
 that's the cause of all the trouble,' she screams, comin' 
 right out inter the street. 'Yes,' I shouts back at 'er, 
 ' an' your trouble is that yer can't git one' — an' bolts. 
 "An' just to think, if it 'adn't bin fer them two 
 young Dammit ! Touch the bell, somebody." 
 
 35
 
 Ex Africa 
 
 " I'm twenty-three and five feet nine, 
 I'll go and be a sodger." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 FROM the little land-locked North African 
 harbour the barren sand stretched back to 
 rise in gentle slopes to the ridge of foot-hills 
 which, blurred and indefinite in the heat haze of 
 the day, now stood out sharply against the evening 
 sky, as if stamped out of tin, and seemed to have 
 thrown themselves out, crescent fashion, tapering 
 down almost to sea-level, to rise again till they 
 reached two points forming the narrow passage 
 into the harbour, the whole appearing as if designed 
 by nature to protect the straggling handful of dingy 
 white and faded pink-washed square squat dwellings 
 which sprawled on the edge of the Libyan desert 
 that faded across the hills into the limitless space 
 beyond. All round lie scattered buried ruins to 
 attract the archaeologist and intrigue the imagina- 
 tion. The mind flashes back across the ages and 
 visualises the early settlers. Was it one of the 
 Wandering Lost Tribes or the accursed band of 
 Canaanites, or may it have been a halting-place of 
 the Arab hordes moving relentlessly like locusts 
 towards sleeping Spain ? Perchance, and most likely, 
 some industrious Carthaginian colony, where the 
 mythical Elissa herself may have reigned, and the 
 industrious Herodotus paddled about, filling up his 
 tablets and drawing on his imagination when facts 
 ran dry, may have flourished and passed. Or did 
 these days exhibit here a picture of Egypt's long- 
 lost greatness, for do they not show the ruins of 
 
 36
 
 Ex Africa 
 
 Cleopatra's Villa? A busy gadabout the seductive 
 queen must have been to have even seen all her 
 legendary resting-places, numerous as the wells of 
 Moses or the apocryphal beds at home in which 
 stout-hearted Queen Bess is alleged to have slept. 
 All of which is a sore perplexity to the truthful 
 historian. 
 
 Whatever its past, to-day, in the year of our Lord 
 nineteen hundred and fifteen, the spot fulfilled its 
 destiny in the march of progress as the base camp of 
 a section of a British army. 
 
 In the centre, the well-ordered neatness of the 
 tents and horse lines broke against the darker colour 
 of the adjacent hills in the background. On the 
 east of the camp, to and from the only sign of 
 vegetation on the sandy plain, a constant stream of 
 men and horses moved wearily, for the day had been 
 a trying one and fighting more than usually severe. 
 Here, surrounded by loosely built walls of the soft 
 white desert stone arranged in squares like the 
 Westmorland sheepfolds, and doubtless in more 
 peaceful times used as such by wandering Bedouin, 
 stood a few half-dead fig-trees and sad-looking date- 
 palms amidst stunted grey-green bushes, and what 
 might have been wiry grass before it was churned 
 into the mud by impatient parched horses waiting 
 their turn to water at the canvas troughs slowly and 
 laboriously filling as the hand-heaved bucket rose 
 and fell. 
 
 As night was fast approaching the whole camp 
 was bustling to end the day's work before darkness 
 came down. Far out, the pickets could be seen 
 
 37
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 marching off to relieve and take their posts for the 
 night, while all round, helmeted yeomen, bonneted 
 Scots, soft-hatted Colonials and turbaned Sikhs 
 hurried on their various errands, while cantering 
 horsemen and plunging mules sent up a cloud of 
 dust to mingle with the smoke of the cooking fires 
 which, ascending in the still air straight into the blue, 
 hung with the dust like a pall over the camp. 
 
 In the near foreground a squad of men in kharki 
 slacks and blue-grey army shirts were listlessly 
 digging a line of graves. 
 
 From an isolated group of tents, larger than the 
 others and square in shape, some men emerged and, 
 assembling outside, moved off across the yielding 
 sand towards the makeshift quay at which in the 
 motionless water lay a little screw-driven vessel, half 
 gunboat, half cargo-carrier. Slowly the approach- 
 ing figures resolved themselves into a score or so of 
 " walking wounded," with orderlies carrying kit. 
 
 The sun, a huge ball of blazing copper just about 
 to sink behind the crest of the hills into the desert 
 over their left shoulders, threw long, fantastic, jog- 
 gling blue shadows in front of them, while the 
 evening haze settled over the camp. 
 
 A timid whity-brown wandering cur trotted up 
 to the group, looked inquiringly with wistful eyes 
 at them, then, receiving no encouragement, tucked 
 down its tail and sneaked away, stopping every 
 few yards with uplifted paw to gaze back at the 
 silent men. 
 
 Pale, unshaven, with faces drawn in pain, the 
 bandaged warriors, leaving behind them the heavy 
 
 38
 
 Ex Africa 
 
 sugg^estive sincll of antiseptics, blood and sweat 
 which ahnost seemed to swim opaque in the unstir- 
 ring air, so pungent it was, limped and staggered 
 along, while here and there a watchful orderly walked 
 alongside a man, with a steadying arm round his 
 waist and the sufferer's hand held round his neck. 
 
 Beside them, to clear the dust the others raised, 
 four bearers paced steadily and carefully with a 
 stretcher on which a recumbent figure lay limp and 
 motionless. Beside the stretcher walked a young 
 French-Canadian doctor, glancing watchfully at the 
 livid face of the boy : for he was little more. 
 Although the distance was but a few hundred yards, 
 the party moved so slowly that in the dimming light 
 it seemed to stand still, the only indication of move- 
 ment being the occasional lurch forward of a figure 
 and the puffs of dust kicked up by stumbling feet. 
 In time they arrived at the vessel's side. The 
 stretcher-bearers tenderly laid their burden down, 
 and slipping the shoulder-straps, with hand, sleeve 
 or grimy handkerchief, they brushed the sweat from 
 face and neck, for the soft sand made heavy going 
 and the day's scorching heat had not yet been dis- 
 pelled by the cool of the evening. They stood there, 
 a weary, stricken group, some slipping down to sit 
 in the sand while the doctor stepped on board to 
 arrange their accommodation with the master of the 
 vessel, who with the chief engineer had watched the 
 approach of his living freight, leaning on the rail of 
 the bridge-deck on which the wounded were soon 
 made comfortable more or less, being ranged for 
 warmth against the opened engine-room casing, 
 
 39
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 while two deck-hands were busy lacing the canvas 
 windscreen into its frame. Returning to the stretcher, 
 the doctor deftly felt his patient's pulse, then, at a 
 sign, the bearers gently straightened themselves with 
 their ghastly burden and stepped forward to the 
 edge of the quay. Gingerly crossing the gangway, 
 they reached down to the deck with careful steps 
 and picked their way uneasily aft through the raffle 
 that lay about. They halted at the foot of the iron 
 ladder leading to the upper deck, where the doctor 
 had preceded them. Here they stood uncertain for 
 a moment, true landsmen in the unaccustomed sur- 
 roundings of a small vessel with little elbow-room, 
 while they considered how they might surmount 
 the ladder's steepness, laden as they were. As they 
 paused, the deep, quiet voice of the skipper broke in 
 from the rail: "Mind that hatch-coaming there!" 
 Simultaneously the four looked up. "The wot?" 
 asked one. *' Behind you," said the captain, as he 
 pointed to the open hatchway. As they turned their 
 heads in the direction indicated, one of the orderlies, 
 who, all unnoticing, had in his innocence been lean- 
 ing a leg against the hatch-mouth, involuntarily 
 started back and jerked the stretcher. The wounded 
 boy groaned, and as the other three looked their 
 reproach the doctor clambered over the rail and 
 dropped lightly to the deck below. Passing between 
 them and taking the stretcher poles in his hands, 
 he told the offender and the other to let go and took 
 their place ; then, as the leading pair cautiously 
 mounted the narrow rail, gradually raising the 
 stretcher as they stepped till his arms were at full 
 40
 
 Ex Africa 
 
 stretch above his head, he mounted two steps and 
 gently brought the stretcher level with the deck 
 while they passed the frame along the planking and 
 laid it to rest in the lee of the deck-house behind the 
 windscreen. Hastily the doctor bade the skipper 
 good-bye, and, adding : " Sorry we can't spare a 
 doctor to go with you this trip, but our hands are 
 too full over there," he nodded his head towards the 
 camp. " However, I don't think there's any risk : 
 anyhow it can't be helped and you should make 
 Alex, in the morning some time, shouldn't you?" 
 " Yes, bar submarines," answered the captain grimly, 
 and, pressing his hand with a wish for good luck, 
 the doctor jumped ashore and hurriedly set out for 
 camp. The soldiers' work for that day was done : 
 the doctors' gruesome task had hardly commenced. 
 
 Moving to the electric telegraph on the bridge- 
 deck, the captain swung the handle to "Stand by," 
 then, returning, he spoke through the doorway of his 
 deck-cabin and a long-skirted native servant appeared, 
 carrying tea for the wounded men, while the skipper 
 stepped to the rail. Leaning over, " All aboard, Mr 
 Simmonds?" he called, and a voice from some un- 
 seen person replied : " All aboard, sir." " Cast off aft! " 
 came the order, and the barefoot crew sped to fore- 
 castle and poop as swiftly as might be along decks 
 littered with baggage not yet stowed. " All clear 
 aft ? " " All clear, sir," came the reply, as a hand 
 ashore, casting off the hawser from a crazy-looking 
 wooden bollard, passed it forward so that it might 
 not foul the propeller when being drawn aboard, and 
 ran along to where the fore mooring rope was made 
 
 41
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 fast. " Heave away for'ard ! " and the winch spat 
 and clanked noisily as the hawser tightened on a 
 ring in a bedded stone, and gradually turned the little 
 vessel's head inshore while her stern edged out. 
 
 On the quay, the handful of those who had come 
 down with the wounded stood or sat in the sand, 
 smoking as they watched the handling of a ship, 
 wondering and uncomprehending. A whistle, and 
 the winch ceased its throbbing. Again the telegraph 
 rang, and under the spanking of the propeller blades 
 the vessel moved slowly astern. Back she went 
 jerkily. The telegraph tinkled, and silence fell, 
 unbroken save for the smack, smack as the disturbed 
 water lipped the quayside in little waves. A yellow 
 light was hoisted on the foremast and a figure could 
 be seen placing a red light amidships at the bridge. 
 Steadily the vessel slipped back almost impercept- 
 ibly. Then once more the electric bell sounded in 
 the stillness, and at slow speed she swung round 
 the harbour in a half-circle, passed across to the left 
 of the onlookers, and headed for the horns of the 
 narrow mouth that opened up the Mediterranean 
 beyond. 
 
 Still the little group remained watching : never 
 spoke ; never moved ; but smoked on in silence. 
 
 As she reached the harbour entrance and 
 straightened her head for the open sea, and as 
 both sidelights shone out, the trill of the electric 
 telegraph reached the shore faintly. The propeller 
 responded by throwing up a bigger, whiter spume, 
 while the red and green lights swayed slowly up 
 and down as she forged ahead and slipped away 
 42
 
 Ex Africa 
 
 to the deeper sea and dipped her bows in the long 
 rollers outside. 
 
 Still the orderlies remained almost motionless — 
 some had even ceased to smoke while they gazed — 
 then, as the port light disappeared and the mast-head 
 light drew away forward from the green spot to 
 landward, the eastward promontory seemed to 
 swallow up the vessel. As she passed out of 
 sight, those sitting rose stiffly, and, one remarking 
 with a heartfelt sigh : " The lucky beggars. Oh ! 
 the lucky beggars," they brought their thoughts 
 back with a jerk from daydreams of home and 
 the luxuries of hospital to the stark realities of 
 the present. Silently turning away from the 
 harbour, with heavy steps they trudged through 
 the sand towards the camp, dim and ghostly in 
 the descending darkness. 
 
 43
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 Some books are lies frae end to end, 
 But this that I am gaun to tell 
 Is just as true's the Deil's in hell 
 Or Dublin City. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 THIS is a sad and painful tale, with several 
 morals. Beyond doubt many societies will 
 desire to have it reprinted and distributed 
 in the form of a tract. 
 
 It was, I think, Buckle who decided that ability 
 to foresee events is the highest form of human 
 intelligence, and, as Cranberry was generally content 
 to immerse himself in the immediate present, Buckle 
 would have found him disappointing. 
 
 That Cranberry should have joined the Royal 
 Fifth Yacht Club was the perfectly natural result of 
 a worthy social ambition. The members, if not 
 quite the salt of the earth, at any rate considered 
 themselves the salt of the district. His enthusiasm, 
 taking wings, then led him to the purchase of a real 
 yacht. True, she cut no considerable figure, being 
 only a twenty-one footer, but little fish are pro- 
 verbially sweet and it was Cranberry's first essay. 
 Had his enthusiasm not at the same time landed 
 him into the purchase of a tripod-stand telescope, 
 which he and his admiring wife duly erected on 
 their garden overlooking the Firth, he might to-day 
 still skim its waters, a free man, instead of — but to 
 our tale : 
 
 Having taken over the boat, he only waited till 
 he had got delivery of his " yachting suit," complete 
 with badged cap, to arrange an inaugural cruise. 
 
 44
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 Conscious that he lacked any great experience in 
 sailing, he decided that it might be profitable to 
 ask the person from whom he purchased his craft 
 to accompany him — a somewhat harum-scarum 
 youth, answering to the slightly pantomimic name 
 of Tommy Small. That worthy assured Cranberry 
 that nothing could possibly give him more pleasure, 
 and asked if he might bring his pal, Johnnie Stout, 
 a veritable bird of a feather. 
 
 Bright and breezy was the fateful June morning 
 when the trio assembled at the club-house. 
 
 " Now look here, you boys," said Cranberry, as 
 he ushered them out on to the lawn, where for some 
 function or another a marquee had been erected, 
 " I don't know the meaning of this tent arrangement, 
 but you two just sit down in it, and stay there and 
 order anything you like. I'm off to get into my 
 sailing things." So saying, he hurried away. 
 
 Presently the pair saw the gladsome sight of an 
 ancient servitor shuffling across the lawn with two 
 brimming whiskies and sodas on a tray. " Nice 
 mornin' for a sail, gentlemen," he began; "aye, an' 
 if this is tae yer likin', jist say the word. Maister 
 Cranberry, he said I wasna tae stint ye." Swiftly 
 two faces disappeared behind the tumblers. Simul- 
 taneously they reappeared, and Small said : " Couldn't 
 be better." 
 
 Oflf paddled the old worthy. To and fro he 
 worked his passage across the lawn, and without 
 protest the enthusiastic pair strove hard to see that 
 their host's good intentions should at least get a 
 chance. What ultimately might have happened, it 
 
 45
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 is difficult to conjecture, especially as the course 
 the waiter was beginning to steer was becoming 
 sufficiently erratic to show that he too had no 
 intention of missing such an opportunity, when 
 fortunately the reappearance of Cranberry terminated 
 the proceedings. Somewhat shocked, not morally, 
 but at the fact that he was being left behind, he 
 hurriedly disappeared into the club-house. Getting 
 outside a couple for himself to make up any leeway, 
 he marshalled his forces and proceeded towards the 
 harbour, where the good ship Hilda, dutifully 
 christened after his wife, swung at anchor, her 
 moorings having not yet been laid down. 
 
 As they passed the "Cross Keys" inn. Cranberry, 
 hastily excusing himself — a somewhat superfluous 
 thing to do in such company — dived within, and 
 anon emerged with an enormous parcel, the shape 
 and size of which would have caused the late Sir 
 Wilfrid, of ever-blessed memory, to throw a fit. 
 
 Rejoining his charges, he hailed the club boat. The 
 three made their way on board without accident, and 
 presently slipped out between the pier-heads in what 
 the fisher folk thereabouts call "a fine sma' watter 
 breeze." 
 
 Pleasantly the time passed as the little craft sped 
 along. Cranberry's parcel being duly inspected, 
 healths individual and general were enthusiastically 
 drunk, and the dead men marked the Hilda's course 
 in time-honoured fashion. At mid-firth the breeze 
 took off, and the water looking tempting in the 
 brilliant sun, nothing would please Johnnie Stout 
 but that he should go over the side for a swim. 
 46
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 Little knowing that the watchful Mrs Cranberry, ever 
 since they started, had been standing with an appre- 
 hensive eye glued to the brand-new telescope, the 
 other two had a cheery if risky game of doing their 
 best to drown the unfortunate Johnnie, by paying 
 away and leaving him every time he got alongside. 
 Finally he did manage to get on board, and as soon 
 as he recovered his wind he proceeded to abuse the 
 others in no measured terms, while the yacht hung 
 about in irons. Having patched up the feud and 
 thrown the empty peacemakers overboard, the Hilda 
 was headed in a freshening wind for the haven of 
 their choice on the other side of the Firth. Smoothly 
 she swung to in the little bay, and the hook was 
 dropped. As smartly as might have been expected 
 of people in their condition, the sails were housed 
 and all made shipshape — more or less. Having 
 assured themselves that nothing wet remained on 
 board, they hailed a passing rowing-boat, and, feeling 
 that all they desired was worlds to conquer, they 
 landed at the quaint old stone pier, once the starting- 
 point of many a bygone venture, now the stamping 
 ground of yachting enthusiasts and trippers. 
 
 No one who has followed our friends' progress 
 thus far would be astonished to learn that their first 
 visit was to the first hotel they passed — or, rather, 
 did not pass. 
 
 Into "The Crescent" they walked, and blithe was 
 the landlord's greeting. " Here's a wire for ye, 
 Maister Cranberry," said he, passing the buff envelope 
 across with the air of conferring a favour. 
 
 Nervously Cranberry ripped open the envelope, 
 
 47
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 read and reread the message, then, gazing for a 
 moment in silence at his companions, he snorted and 
 thrust the missive into his pocket, calling for his 
 glass, for all the world as if he had been Old King 
 Cole himself. Not wishing to appear inquisitive, 
 Small and Stout could only exchange glances and 
 wonder ; then, as Cranberry was obviously becoming 
 fidgety, they suggested a move. " Yes, let's go to 
 Macbean's for lunch," said he, as they marched out. 
 And to Macbean's, another of the village hostels 
 catering for the merry tripper, they bent their, it 
 must be admitted, somewhat faltering steps. 
 
 " Weel, weel, Maister Cranberry," was Macbean's 
 welcome, " I was jist waitin' for ye tae turn up — 
 here's a telegram for ye." The envelope changed 
 hands. Savagely Cranberry burst the cover. Barely 
 glancing at the contents, he snorted and sent the 
 telegram to join its predecessor, and once more 
 applied himself to spirit-rapping. Consumed with 
 curiosity, but too much the little gentlemen to ask 
 questions, the others could only stare at each other 
 and at Cranberry in mute astonishment. After a 
 long pause, during which he nearly pulled his 
 moustache out by its roots, the obviously perturbed 
 Cranberry turned to them and exclaimed : " Come on, 
 let's go to ' The Bell.' " 
 
 "But," expostulated they, beset with a crapulous 
 appetite, "we thought we were going to feed here?" 
 
 " Oh no," barked Cranberry ; " damn this place. I 
 hate it, and I can smell cabbage cooking. Let's go 
 along to ' The Bell.' " And to " The Bell " they went. 
 
 Barely had they entered the inn when, catching 
 
 48
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 sight of his visitors, the proprietor greeted them : 
 "Ah, there you are, Mr Cranberry. The wife was 
 just saying you would be like to come over on a fine 
 day like this with that new yacht we heard you'd 
 bought. And here's a wire for you," he continued, 
 handing over the harbinger we have all learnt to 
 welcome or dread. Smothering an oath, Cranberry 
 grabbed the offending envelope, and, without opening 
 it, crammed it into his pocket. Overcome with 
 curiosity, the others saw their chance. " Hadn't you 
 better open it ? " they chorused. 
 
 " Open it ? " snorted Cranberry. " Yes, I will open 
 it — come here." Dragging them to a corner, he 
 exhibited the telegrams, each a repetition of the 
 other, and reading : " Have been watching you 
 return by train immediately." 
 
 " It's that damned telescope," bleated Cranberry. 
 " I wish to Heaven I'd never bought it." 
 
 The silence which fell on the triumvirate was 
 broken by Stout. " Let's go to the ' Sea View ' hotel ; 
 there may be another for you there." 
 
 " Oh, don't try to be funny ! " almost yelled the 
 miserable Cranberry. " Can you see my wife wiring 
 to a temperance hotel ? " 
 
 Solomon's exhortation in his Book of Proverbs 
 has, if not cured trouble, at least often made it 
 temporarily less oppressive. So Cranberry, if 
 capable of coherent thought, may have reflected, as 
 we see him seated blinking in the sunshine outside 
 the inn after lunch. But his recovering complacency 
 received a shock when, on mentioning a likely train, 
 " Not a yard do we go in any blighted train," said 
 D 49
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 Tommy Small. "Qui' ri'," hiccuped his friend. 
 "You can get back to your lawful sp-sp-spouse b' 
 rail if you like ; we're goin' to sail the " (duly qualified) 
 " boat home." 
 
 In vain the wretched Cranberry, assisted, albeit 
 somewhat timorously, by the landlord, endeavoured 
 to dissuade them. The odds against him were too 
 great. Reluctantly he tacked down to the little 
 harbour with his guests. 
 
 But unexpected opposition met them. Not a 
 boatman could be found willing to ferry them off. 
 As energy-economising and censorious a crew as 
 could be found in the kingdom, their virtuous 
 attitude was beautiful, "Ye ought tae be fair 
 ashamed o' yersel'," they informed Cranberry, 
 "wantin' tae let thae laddies gang abaird in the 
 condeeshin they're in ; aye, an' you nae better. A 
 fair disgrace ! Tak' them awa' aff tae the station wi' 
 ye" (there are no secrets in a village post office), 
 " an' Wattie here'll sail the bit boatie ower for ye the 
 
 morn's morn." 
 
 All concerned, however, had reckoned without the 
 fact that the firm of Small & Stout, in any condi- 
 tion, were gentlemen of resource. On realising the 
 impasse that they had struck, they had already 
 moved off on a tour of discovery, leaving the hapless 
 Cranberry to sustain as best he might the home 
 truths of the boatmen. Stumbling along the beach, 
 they captured a confiding youth spearing flounders 
 from the bow of a rowing-boat. Too young and 
 inexperienced to be other than anxious to oblige 
 real yachtsmen, he gladly consented to row them off, 
 
 50
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 and, ignoring or not comprehending the frenzied 
 howls from the pier to " Tak nae notice o' thae folk," 
 he assisted the precious pair to embark, whilst the 
 boatmen, overjoyed at the diversion — the tripper 
 season had not started and their off-season pastime 
 of mechanically abusing each other was a little 
 threadbare for the want of fresh scandal — gathered 
 in a chattering group at the pier-head, in the centre 
 of which stood the woeful Cranberry. 
 
 With frantic haste the voyagers lost no time in 
 getting up the anchor and hoisting the foresail. 
 Slowly the little vessel began to gather way and 
 the pair applied themselves to hoisting the mainsail. 
 Lurching about the deck, Tommy Small clutched 
 what he thought was the main halyard. Leaning 
 well back to get his full weight on the rope, it ran 
 through the sheave of the block and, not suddenly 
 but gently, he passed over the side, yelling as he 
 flopped : " I can't swim." 
 
 Fortunately no one had attended to the tiller, so 
 the Hilda, having come up into what wind there was, 
 was practically stationary. None too gently Johnnie 
 plunged at him with a boathook, and after a hectic 
 struggle hauled him over the side. Pausing for a 
 moment to recover their breath and senses, a hulla- 
 baloo from the harbour caused them to turn in that 
 direction. A pleasing sight met their gaze. 
 
 A flotilla of fully five rowing-boats was surging 
 through the water after them, for all the world like 
 an attack by torpedo craft in line abreast, and in the 
 bow of the foremost, in prayerful attitude, was the 
 now thoroughly distressed Cranberry, gesticulating 
 
 51
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 and chanting, while the boatmen, having no pic- 
 turesque boating songs with which to accompany 
 him, filled in the blanks with fearsome imprecations. 
 
 The whole thing was meat and drink to them. 
 Not since the whale had come ashore on the West 
 Beach, the previous November, had the natives had 
 such a good day in the off- season. The day's 
 happenings would provide cud to chew for weeks, and 
 they bent to their oars like heroes, foam splashing 
 in all directions. 
 
 "Quick," yelped Johnnie, "the foresail's drawing — 
 get the jib on her : I'll look after the stick." Man- 
 fully Small hurled himself, all dripping, at the ropes. 
 There was no mistake this time, and slowly the sails 
 caught the breeze. But the pause had given the 
 enemy time, so, making the halyard fast, Tommy 
 lurched aft to help Johnnie to repel boarders. 
 
 All round surged the little rowing-boats, while 
 Johnnie with the boathook and Tommy with an 
 ash sweep kept up a waving motion which checked 
 the boatmen's ardour. But the desperate Cran- 
 berry was still to be reckoned with, and, urging 
 his rowers to their utmost exertions, he got close 
 enough to grab the end of the boathook. Wildly 
 the attacking flotilla cheered. " Haud ontil it, sir 
 — we hiv them noo, the young scoondrels ! " 
 
 But alas for human hopes. Poor Cranberry's star 
 was taking a day off. Accidentally or otherwise, 
 Johnnie let go his end of the boathook and the 
 miserable man took an involuntary plunge in the 
 very moment of victory. 
 
 Instantly the attack stopped and the boatmen 
 
 52
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 crowded round to help the gasping, cursing, splutter- 
 ing owner. This was good business. The Hilda 
 might sail to blazes ; here was a certainty of much 
 immediate largess, with the prospect of more in 
 days, even years, to come. " Aye, that wis jist 
 aboot the time I saved ye frae droonin', sir," would 
 be a sure two-bobsworth any day, and they nearly 
 tore the half-drowned and wholly dazed wretch to 
 pieces in their anxiety to achieve his capture. " Lea* 
 um alane, wull 'ee — ah've gotten um ! Awa' tae hell 
 wi' ye, ah've gotten um ! Tak yer haunds frae aff 
 o' his feet: ye'll hae the man drooned ! " In such 
 fashion they howled at each other, whilst nearly 
 rending him. 
 
 Whatever Cranberry thought or felt in these 
 moments, he certainly gave the toilers of the sea 
 a benefit performance, and, after all, we must accept 
 some sacrifice for the greatest good of the greater 
 number — and he certainly was in a minority. 
 
 Clearing the cliff and catching the brisk east 
 wind, the Hilda slipped along and gradually left 
 behind her the rescuers fighting like vultures over 
 their prey. Their outcry grew fainter as the couple 
 made all square and edged across the Firth. " It's 
 a pity," said Johnnie, "that you got yourself wet — 
 fortunately, I bought a flask at ' The Bell.' " "Oh, 
 did you ? " answered Tommy ; " I bought one at 
 Macbean's." 
 
 Fain would I call a halt and simply state that 
 they took their ship over. But truth must prevail. 
 Presently one " empty " splashed over the side ; soon 
 another followed it, and down dived Johnnie to the 
 
 53
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 little cabin. " Call me early, Tommy dear," he 
 murmured, as he disappeared ; " when we're half 
 over, and I'll take my trick." " Don't you worry," 
 replied the resourceful Tommy, "we can steer her 
 with a fixed tiller." And so saying he lashed the 
 stick, and, snuggling down in the cockpit, calmly 
 
 fell asleep. 
 
 . • • • • • 
 
 A bump and the outcry of many voices wakened 
 Johnnie. Up he jumped and banged his head 
 against the coach-roof, nearly knocking himself 
 silly. Recovering, he joined his companion in the 
 cockpit, and, looking up, found that they were off 
 the harbour, plumb underneath the starboard sponson 
 of the good ship William Stirling. Hanging over 
 the end of what he no doubt called the bridge was 
 a person with an enormous red face trimmed with 
 grey whiskers, and the voice of him filled the 
 heavens. Never since the Emperor of Korea lost 
 his bearings has there been heard such language 
 as the bewhiskered one was using. Figure to your- 
 self his feelings on seeing this apparently derelict 
 small craft with flapping sails, holding up the 
 traffic just outside the harbour. The two youths 
 swayed in the cockpit while every passenger 
 struggled for a good place at the rail. Enthusias- 
 tically they answered the skipper's abuse, while 
 deck-hands with poles shoved the Hilda off, and 
 no doubt they would have worthily held their own, 
 had not a low fellow of what the Apostle calls the 
 baser sort appeared from the stokehold with a 
 bucket of ashes, not yet cold, which he promptly 
 
 54
 
 How She Came Home 
 
 emptied over the pair. Signalling "Half-speed ahead" 
 the ferry-boat moved into the harbour amidst the 
 laughter and cheers of the passengers and the 
 crowds at the pier-heads, leaving the ash-bestrewn 
 Hilda swaying in her wash. 
 
 There was still an air of wind, just sufficient to 
 draw them in, and as they passed the admiring 
 crowd on the breakwater, whom should they see, 
 held, nay, positively clutched, by his, let us hope, 
 adoring wife, but Cranberry. Swiftly the helm was 
 put up. 
 
 Right across to the far side of the harbour they 
 edged, tied the boat to the nearest mooring post 
 and scurried ashore. As they hustled up the quay- 
 side, carefully avoiding the proximity of their friend 
 the ferry-boat skipper, they saw across the harbour, 
 obviously coming round to meet them, two quickly 
 moving figures. They broke into a run. 
 
 The orthodox finish to this ower true tale would 
 be that an advertisement appeared in the columns 
 of The Yachting Monthly^ offering a twenty-one foot 
 boat for sale, " no reasonable offer refused." 
 
 It was not so. Cranberry still sails the Hilda^ 
 but mostly inside the harbour, and his sole companion 
 is and for ever shall be his wife. Gone is his smart 
 "yachting suit." He wears a plain blue reefer, and 
 the only sign of a badge is an inconspicuous piece of 
 blue ribbon in the left lapel. 
 
 An old-clothes dealer gave a tramp two shillings 
 for an almost unrecognisable telescope and stand — 
 he remarked that the one unbroken lens might be 
 worth it. 
 
 55
 
 The Dealers 
 
 If self the wavering balance shake. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 THE Haymarket is like Regent Street: half 
 the people spend their time getting in and 
 out of the way, while the others stand gazing 
 into the windows of shops that they never enter. I 
 had stopped at Brownlow's, then, recollecting that I 
 still owed him for a modest purchase, I thought it 
 would be the civil thing to do if I passed the time of 
 day with him, so I turned in and found his manager 
 occupied with that war-time eruption. Sir Pertinax 
 MacSycophant. Right well did he deserve his 
 honour. Did he not come to his country's aid in the 
 time of need and with the connivance of a so-called 
 Government wring a trifling million or so out of her 
 dire necessities, then generously give his services 
 free of charge when the game was becoming too fly- 
 blown to carry on? What could be more satisfactory? 
 On seeing me the manager bowed gravely as one 
 who is not quite certain whether or not he has made 
 a bad debt. Noticing the manager's recognition and 
 misconstruing it. Sir Pertinax condescended in my 
 direction, but frigidly, as was proper in one whose 
 garner of the full ripe harvest of war had been 
 crowned with the dignity of knighthood towards 
 a mere hewer of wood and drawer of water with no 
 more intelligence than leads one to the tented field 
 where there were generally no tents. I had not seen 
 the creature since the days when his chief occupa- 
 tion, after dodging his creditors, was fending off ex- 
 asperated shareholders. Although it was high noon, 
 the glaze on his mottled purple jowl, his heavily 
 
 56
 
 The Dealers 
 
 brilliantined little moustache, and the reek of scent 
 which more than held its own with the aroma of the 
 delightful cigar he was slobbering, indicated a recent 
 visit to a barber. 
 
 From time to time an assistant placed a framed 
 picture against a chair-back while the pompous one 
 bent his unsightly carcass as far as his paunch would 
 permit and peered at the painting helplessly, invari- 
 ably commencing his inspection by asking to have 
 the signature pointed out to him, as the salesman 
 gravely began to turn out his stereotyped phrases. 
 
 In the later days of the war, and again after the 
 armistice, disagreeable rumours were current that 
 the weight of public indignation might compel the 
 political bosses to force the war-wealthy to disgorge. 
 It was a horrible suggestion, and was ultimately 
 deftly dealt with by the politician, but for a moment 
 Barabbas and Cassius wilted, then rallied their wits. 
 If left alone, the political junto would never go back 
 on them, but it might be driven to take action, so 
 they would hedge by patronising the arts and forming 
 collections. Throughout the land the game opened. 
 
 "Yes, Sir Pertinax," the suave manager was 
 saying, "this is one that I have been especially 
 anxious for you to see. Indeed, I have had it 
 laid aside for you. It is a splendid example of 
 Stoomvaart's work. As an investment " 
 
 " Stoomvaart — who's Stoomvaart ? " 
 
 " Stoomvaart, Sir Pertinax, is the coming Conti- 
 nental painter of the modern Dutch school. I am 
 glad to think that you already have secured an 
 example of his work, and " 
 
 57
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 " Oh yes ! you're right. So I have, so I have. 
 Well, I don't need two, do I ? One'll surely do?" 
 
 "But this is a very important example, Sir 
 Pertinax, and as an investment " 
 
 *' How d'ye mean 'important'? You dealers are 
 always calling pictures 'important.' What is it? 
 D'ye mean that it's big or what ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir Pertinax, it is undoubtedly of greater 
 dimensions than the other that you possess." 
 
 " Well, then, if it's bigger they wouldn't make a 
 pair, so what's the good of two of them to me ? " 
 
 " But, sir, as an investment " 
 
 " D'ye think they're sure to go up ? " 
 
 " Indeed yes. Sir Pertinax. Why, we will gladly 
 repurchase the Stoomvaart you have at a ten per 
 cent, increase." 
 
 " Ten? H'm, that's not much, either. Now, what 
 was the name of yon Frenchman again that you 
 sold me ? " 
 
 " Do you refer to Jourgas, Sir Pertinax ? " 
 
 " Aye, the Jourgass. Yon was a deal, if you like," 
 and in his anxiety to impress he so far forgot 
 himself as to turn to me. " Morgan here," he went 
 on, " had had it long enough and was always at me 
 to take it off his hands. I expect nobody had the 
 nerve to give it house-room ; balHt girls tyin' up 
 their shoes it was, an' ye know these kind o' sug- 
 gestive things is worse than noods," whereupon the 
 gallant captain of industry leered nastily, then 
 continued: "Well, I could see nothing in it myself: 
 a sort of half-finished-lookin' thing, done with these 
 coloured chalks like children play with, but I began 
 
 58
 
 The Dealers 
 
 to hear that this one Jourgass was fetchin' good 
 prices and that America was buyin', and just about 
 that time I noticed in a paper that the beggar was 
 gettin' on and had had his eighty-something birth- 
 day, so that decides me. Thinks I, I'll chance it, for 
 if a painter's sort of famous, the minute he's dead, up 
 go the prices, so I gives Morgan here his figure for 
 it and, d'ye know, I hadn't had it many months 
 when he popped off and his nibs here " — and with 
 full knightly grace he jerked his thumb at the 
 doubtless delighted manager — " offers me twice my 
 money. That's the way to deal in Art, my boy ! " 
 And he triumphantly resumed his humid relations 
 with his cigar, 
 
 " Well, sir," said the alert salesman, *' that shows 
 that as an investment " 
 
 "No, no; I'm tired of these Dutchmen and their 
 cows an' sheep. Have you nothing livelier ? " 
 
 Swiftly Stoomvaart the rejected was removed and 
 something " livelier " appeared. 
 
 " Now, Sir Pertinax," began the manager, " I am 
 glad that you have given me the opportunity of 
 showing you this. It is one of a set of four entitled 
 ' Poursuites Amoureuses,' by the famous French 
 artist, Dupons." 
 
 Absorbing the sample with a salacious eye, the 
 Napoleon of commerce mused. " B' gosh, I don't 
 know what the wife — I mean her ladyship — would 
 think if I took the like o' that home. Let's have a 
 look at the rest." The quartet being set out, the 
 comedy went on. " French, you say : he well might 
 be. Does he live in Paris ? " 
 
 59
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 " Sir, you are quite right," said the nimble-witted 
 manager. " He lived in Paris until the time of his 
 death, being, as you no doubt remember, a con- 
 temporary of Boucher. His work is much sought 
 after, and those four are considered very important 
 examples of " 
 
 "There you go again with your 'important,'" 
 sighed the befogged connoisseur. "What's the 
 money.?" he asked, and passed on to surer ground, 
 and I passed out into the street, leaving Success 
 justified of its disciple. 
 
 In St James's Square I met Phipps Cavanagh, and 
 gladly accepted an invitation to lunch at his rooms, 
 for to know him is an honour, and, when he is in the 
 mood, to be in his company is a liberal entertain- 
 ment. Many years ago he practised at the Bar, but, 
 the possession of private means removing the neces- 
 sity for hard work, he took to racing. Being rather 
 more than useful across a country and able to train 
 as well as ride his own horses, he made a success of 
 it till a sequence of bad falls closed the book. What 
 he did now except write critiques and go round the 
 jumping meetings and the salerooms no one knew 
 nor, for that matter, cared, but as a judge of the 
 Arts and of a horse he has few equals. I was able 
 to amuse him with a description of Sir Pertinax 
 "buying pictures." 
 
 "Well, I'm not so sure that it's a bad thing," he 
 began thoughtfully, as he settled himself comfortably 
 after lunch, "that their money should be spent on 
 artistic things, even if it is not good Art. The fools 
 are taken in, of course, but only to the extent of 
 60
 
 The Dealers 
 
 paying ridiculous prices for poor stuff, tons of which 
 the dealers must have had stowed away before the 
 war as a dead loss. It circulates money, and as 
 the profiteer's came to him while he slept, it's pretty 
 much a case of honours easy. Besides, it may have 
 some educative effect. I heard of one inflated little 
 ass who started this antique lay and specialised in 
 buying — or rather being sold — Oriental china of all 
 the periods. My God ! it does make me smile. 
 Hang it all, there's a factory in Paris that turns out 
 copies so wonderful that half the museums in the 
 United States are stocked from it, yet this selling- 
 plater, after tripping about for a few weeks with a 
 book on Ceramics under his arm, began to pose as 
 an authority because he knew the marks ! 
 
 " It's a popular habit to consider the dealer in 
 antiques and pictures a voracious shark, just like 
 a bookmaker or a moneylender, but you must 
 remember that none of them forces you to come to 
 him. No one need bet unless he wish to, and as 
 for moneylenders, if a fellow has no security to offer, 
 what does he expect ? The picture dealers I think 
 we can put in a class by themselves. 
 
 " You remember that Old Master that was sold 
 for an enormous price some years ago ? Well, that's 
 like the case of the man borrowing who has security 
 to offer. That picture had been in the same well- 
 known family for generations and had been photo- 
 graphed and written about all over the world. But 
 supposing you have an old picture, say a portrait, 
 that a knowledgable friend one day discovers is 
 an Old Master, and you wish to sell it, what will 
 
 6i
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 happen? You will find yourself up against a ring 
 of the only dealers whose judgment, let us call it, 
 would be listened to by the public. They may know 
 a little about Art, but they care nothing about it — 
 they make the market. The so-called experts are in 
 their pocket and play up to it, and you are like the 
 man who wants to borrow and has no security to 
 offer. If you insist that it is a genuine Old Master, 
 the dealer you have taken it to merely smiles. 
 Should you indignantly rush off with it to one of 
 the other big houses, if they have not already had a 
 telephone message from Number One it won't be 
 long in coming, and in any case they have been too 
 often at the same game to make a false move in 
 the interval. And it would be the same with all the 
 others. Play off one against the other? When does 
 the wolf pack fall on one of their number? When 
 he's down and out : then they turn and rend him — 
 not before. It's the same in everything, from the 
 three-card gang in a racing third down to politics ; 
 combination, confederacy, call it what you will, dog 
 does not eat dog. 
 
 " Their anxiety — the dealers' anxiety, I mean — to 
 make money is no greater than that of their average 
 customer: hence the bait of the good investment. 
 As a matter of truth it takes an extraordinarily 
 smart dealer to single-handed make a fortune by 
 scoops, and as for the small dealers, they are 
 generally so ignorant that were it not for standing 
 in at those damnable knock-out private auctions 
 after the sales, they literally could not make a living. 
 They are certainly far from being the harpies that 
 
 62
 
 The Dealers 
 
 the public imagines they are : doubtless they might 
 like to be, but they simply don't know enough. As 
 a rule the better-class dealer, especially in the pro- 
 vinces, is a reliable person who is content to remain 
 a tradesman and turn things over to his customers 
 at a reasonable profit, safe in the knowledge that the 
 support of a sound clientele is worth more than 
 struggling to bring off an occasional scoop or trying 
 to fight his way into the big ring. Apart from the 
 flat dishonesty of passing off the imitation as real, 
 which is not what we are getting at, there are in this 
 country, outside of two or three in London or the 
 provinces, few even of the big dealers who are clever 
 enough to risk a plunge on their own. Of course, 
 given the guaranteed pedigree of anything, it's a 
 walk-over, but don't you see that the whole point is 
 the certainty of having a customer. When you find 
 a dealer paying a sensational whack of money in 
 the saleroom for a well-known picture, or piece of 
 furniture or china, depend on it, it's done on com- 
 mission, or if by chance it isn't, then he won't be 
 quite easy till he gets it off his hands again. 
 
 " But of course there's another side to it. You 
 must not imagine that the dealer doesn't stand to be 
 shot at and often is. Of course you know Penckle 
 the millionaire ? Well, as a specialist in getting to 
 windward of anybody Penckle took some beating, 
 and for sheer ingrowing meanness he was, and 
 probably is, for I think the worthy gentleman is still 
 alive, quite a top-weight. Outwardly the essence of 
 good-will and kind-heartedness, he could have given 
 old Shylock two stones and lost him. He was the 
 
 63
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 originator of the 'early worm ' touch. Living as he 
 did in the provinces, London very often saw him on 
 business bent, and, teetotaller, non-smoker and living 
 for nothing but acquisition, he travestied the usual 
 provincial's trip to town by rising early and indulging 
 his hobby of taking a little run round the different 
 dealers just as they were opening. This was his 
 long suit, and, rolling up in a hansom on the chance 
 that the proprietor hadn't arrived, Heaven knows 
 how often he snatched a bargain from some green 
 assistant, for, mark you, the fellow knew quite a lot 
 about what he was after. Another suit was to pop 
 in at lunch-time when the owner was likely to be out, 
 and whatever he bought he was mighty careful to 
 pay for on the nail and remove, if he had to run out- 
 side and find a lorry to cart it away. He took no 
 chances, did Penckle. 
 
 "You know Critchley, one of the heads — now 
 practically the head at Gingham's ? Critchley as a 
 youngster was an underling at Bassinet's in King 
 Street. He had hardly had time to turn round one 
 morning when Penckle arrived. Prowling about, 
 pumping the unsuspecting Critchley, they came 
 across some stuff which had just come in and was 
 not yet priced. In the subtle and practised hands 
 of Penckle the hapless youth gave it all away, and 
 spotting a perfectly unique satinwood commode, 
 decorated by the one and only Angelica, he found 
 that it had cost Bassinet a bare two hundred. It 
 must have been worth ten times that in America, and 
 as Penckle was well aware that Bassinet was prob- 
 ably the one man living who really knew, you can 
 
 64
 
 The Dealers 
 
 see him getting to work, and, to cut it short, he 
 persuaded Critchley to take four hundred for it and 
 there and then wrote out his cheque. Now at that 
 time Bassinet made the error of paying his assistants 
 almost entirely by commission, and although not 
 too comfortable about it, the youth let it go. You 
 can picture Penckle's anxiety to get it away before 
 Bassinet might come on the scene. While Critchley 
 was writing out the receipt, Penckle slipped to the 
 door, paid off his hansom and sent the driver along 
 to the square to order up a four-wheeler. As it was 
 raining and they had to open it up to get the com- 
 mode in, and couldn't shut it when it was in, Penckle 
 sat in the half-opened cab with his overcoat and 
 umbrella over the precious bit of furniture till he got 
 it safely to his hotel. He had not been able to avoid 
 giving his address — that would have raised suspicion 
 — and he was gloating over his purchase in the Pall 
 Mall entrance of the Carlton when a hansom dashed 
 up and Bassinet arrived hot on his trail and savagely 
 angry, for he knew our friend of old. There was a 
 cheerful scene, as you can imagine, but Penckle 
 merely laughed at him. He had the commode, he 
 had his receipt, and an employer is responsible for 
 his servants. 
 
 "Years afterwards Penckle dropped into Gingham's. 
 That was another game of his and quite legitimate 
 too : hunting for good things in places where an- 
 tiques were only what they call a side line. Critchley 
 spotted him at once, but clearly the recognition was 
 not mutual, so he lay low and watched him like a 
 hawk. He noticed that while fiddling about with 
 E 65
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 other things Penckle constantly gazed hard out of 
 the corner of his eye at a Persian carpet. Finally 
 he pulled up at it and turned it over casually, really 
 searching for the price ticket. Critchley made up his 
 mind the instant Penckle touched the carpet, and 
 quietly unpinning the ticket told him that it had 
 been withdrawn from sale. Of course he was care- 
 ful to tell him the price, fifty pounds or something 
 like that, and you can picture the altercation that 
 followed. Penckle clamoured for the manager. That 
 was a sitter for Critchley, so he introduced himself 
 as the manager. Finally the wretched man took 
 himself off to think out schemes for getting hold 
 of what he felt certain was a unique old Persian 
 carpet. Fifty pounds! He nearly collapsed on 
 the pavement. Now it appears that this particular 
 carpet, though not a very modern copy, was a copy 
 of some really magnificent historic carpet which 
 Penckle, who was always on the look-out, may 
 have known and thought that he recognised. Had 
 it been the veritable article, possibly ten thousand 
 might not have bought it. Critchley, who told me 
 all this himself, said that it had come to them with a 
 consignment of fairly modern stuff, and it looked so 
 like the real thing that he had got an outside opinion 
 on it, so there was some excuse for Penckle. His 
 first move was to try to make sure that the carpet 
 was genuine. Unfortunately for him, his years of 
 dealings had got him at cross-purposes with nearly 
 every sound man in the country. However, he 
 dug out someone in New Oxford Street and sent 
 him in one day at lunch-time, but Critchley, ex- 
 66
 
 The Dealers 
 
 pccting some such move, was now lunching on the 
 promises, so the anxious inquirer was politely told 
 that they did not sell to the trade and that door 
 was shut. Next Penckle wired for his wife, who 
 was just such another as himself. From Critchley's 
 account of her visits — she called at least thrice — it 
 must have been a first-class entertainment for him. 
 With madam, who tried to carefully conceal her 
 identity, Critchley went on another tack ; showed 
 her the carpet, pointing out its beauties, being care- 
 ful not to say old or modern, but merely treating 
 it as a carpet and regretting that it had been 
 withdrawn from sale. After nearly losing her 
 sight and tying her brain in a knot, the lady gave 
 it up. You can readily picture the fever of anxiety 
 the covetous Penckle was working himself into as 
 the days went past. Then he himself called again, 
 and with an assumption of frankness tried to bribe 
 Critchley. Critchley asked for time to think it over, 
 and suggested that Penckle should look in the 
 following day. You can see Penckle making no 
 mistake about being early on the mat, only to find 
 that Critchley was off ill. His heart must have 
 jumped when he heard that Critchley was away, 
 so he intimated that he wanted to buy a Persian 
 carpet, and for hours he delved amongst Gingham's 
 entire stock without daring to show his hand, but 
 never a glimpse did he get of his imagined treasure 
 trove. Critchley had attended to that. Penckle 
 must have been nearly demented. Can anything 
 be more tantalising than to have a thing under your 
 hand and get no forrarder ? 
 
 67
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 "Of course Critchley, who is a little sportsman, 
 had arranged the affair and taken a day off to lunch 
 with Bassinet and entertain him with the whole tale, 
 for Bassinet had treated Critchley quite decently 
 when Penckle had put it across him that morning 
 years before. 
 
 " Next day Penckle was in again, as you can fancy, 
 but Critchley had found that Penckle's suggestion 
 had hurt his conscience, and, besides, he did not 
 know what the carpet might be worth, which was 
 strictly accurate, but as he personally was most 
 anxious that Penckle should have the carpet, which 
 was also strictly true, he suggested that he should 
 write in an offer. Finally, after creeping up by 
 hundreds, and it must have been like drawing 
 teeth, Penckle got the carpet, with no guarantee, 
 but just as it stood or rather lay, for exactly one 
 thousand pounds and — Critchley lunched again with 
 Bassinet. It took Penckle some time and a good 
 many opinions to realise that he had overreached 
 himself. Squeal ? Not he ! Much too clever for 
 that was old Penckle. However, Pll tell you what 
 he did do, and the ingenuity of it almost justified 
 it coming off, but as the tailor who pricked the 
 elephant's trunk found, a dirty trick played on 
 anyone is apt to be a mortgage on the future. 
 
 " It was his pleasant custom to have a sale in 
 the provinces every few years, what he called 
 ' wandering away the rubbish,' and having a great 
 local reputation, by including a few really good 
 things and putting in one or two dealers to hoist 
 the prices, 'The property of Wilberforce Penckle, 
 68
 
 The Dealers 
 
 Esquire,' usually wandered away to a pretty 
 tunc. 
 
 " It was Bassinet who noticed it. He dashed into 
 Gingham's one day with a provincial auctioneer's 
 catalogue in his hand. 'Is that your carpet?' he 
 asked Critchley, showing him one of the illustrated 
 pages, and Critchley recognised his old friend. The 
 final act was simple. When the carpet came on at 
 the sale the auctioneer, after calling upon all to admire, 
 made the portentous announcement that it had 
 cost one thousand pounds at the well-known house 
 of Gingham and that the receipt could be viewed. 
 In ordinary circumstances it would probably have 
 worked, but a modest-looking person who had been 
 sent by Bassinet quietly asked if there were any 
 guarantee. That finished it. There wasn't a bid, so 
 we may conclude that Penckle has his carpet still. 
 
 " That's what happens when Greek meets Greek, 
 but what really angers me with picture dealers is 
 their treatment of defenceless, struggling artists. 
 You may hardly credit it, but it is quite impossible 
 for any new man, or woman for that matter, to 
 make any headway without being taken up by a 
 dealer. Now and then a person may have sufficient 
 judgment and courage, and the money to buy new 
 stuff direct from the artist, but that is so unusual 
 that it's not worth talking about. Yes, I admit that 
 the dealer occasionally takes a risk, but it's negligible. 
 As I have just explained to you, a dealer who lasts 
 more than a year or two does so because he has 
 managed to establish a clientele, knowing that that 
 is the one important thing. After that he merely 
 
 69
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 specialises in certain artists' work, and recommends 
 it to people who in the majority of cases have 
 neither taste nor judgment and wish to have the 
 supposed benefit of his. I can truthfully say that 
 I know only one dealer in the country capable of 
 judging a piece of painting without knowing whom 
 it is by and where it came from. It is extremely 
 comic, or perhaps I should say tragic, and it is to 
 these people that the man with the fur coat and 
 cigar goes when ' buying pictures.' Still, it puts 
 money into circulation, and with public taste as it is 
 at present, let's hope it may do some good. The 
 ' ten per cent, on your money ' is an elementary 
 dodge, and if demand slackens, he merely sends one 
 or two to a saleroom and puts in a man to buy at 
 any price he wants. It is well worth the commission 
 he pays and keeps prices up, for you can see that 
 if a dealer holds the works of any artist he simply 
 cannot allow anything by that artist to go cheap in 
 the saleroom. In fact it is the old game of cornering 
 a market or salting a mine in a different form. I 
 knew an artist who one day had the temerity to 
 assert himself and was rude, and justifiably rude, 
 to a dealer who had taken up his stuiT and was, as 
 suited him, enthusiastically putting him forward as 
 the greatest living artist and so on, and after their 
 row, out of sheer spite, he slumped him by unloading 
 his work at any price all over the place, and practic- 
 ally set the poor artist back a decade, and with him 
 all others of that school. 
 
 " I could spend a day telling you the tricks, but 
 many of their customers no doubt come to them 
 
 70
 
 The Dealers 
 
 strai'f^ht from robbing their brethren in the market- 
 place, so why waste time moralising? Yet when 
 you find dealer and customer combining to rob a 
 struggling artist, you'll admit that you have plumbed 
 the depths. I'll tell you the story, and it again 
 introduces our old friend Penckle. 
 
 "Some years ago a certain artist evolved a style 
 of his own and began to attract notice. He was an 
 honest artist. By that I do not mean to imply that 
 he was above pinching your watch, but he was 
 honest in his convictions, and, right or wrong, 
 followed the line unswervingly. Being quite inde- 
 pendent, and as a rule fighting shy of dealers, he was 
 often on his uppers, but he knew the value of his 
 work, and when he did sell, he got his own price. 
 A dealer, and you would be astonished if I told you 
 his name, speculated some hundreds on one of this 
 artist's works — a gem, I have seen it — on the under- 
 standing that any profit over a certain amount was 
 to be shared equally. Then Penckle came on the 
 scene. I have told you that he was no bad judge, 
 but when he was asked two thousand he jibbed. 
 Somehow he got to know of the artist's arrangement, 
 and between them the two worthies concocted this 
 scheme. The dealer was to let him have it for 
 seventeen hundred and fifty. He would then invoice 
 two pictures : the masterpiece at a thousand and 
 another, any worthless bit of stuff, at seven hundred 
 and fifty — if it were burned later it wouldn't matter. 
 I feel too comfortable to get hot about it, and in any 
 case it would do no good, but can you imagine it! 
 Somehow when he was advised of the sale, or when
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 he heard of it, the artist felt suspicious and demanded 
 the buyer's name. Then Tenckle got a telegram 
 asking questions. He did not reply : catch him ! 
 Then he got another and then a third, and being 
 cute enough to realise that to remain silent would be 
 a bad break, but having a motto that it is wise never 
 to put anything in writing if you can avoid it, and 
 as he has the brazen hardihood of a political hack 
 he decided to call at the artist's studio. There he 
 told his tale : his word was accepted and he left. 
 
 " Penckle ultimately sold the picture for I forget 
 how many thousands. The artist died in penury," 
 
 72
 
 Type-ical 
 
 " Let's show," said M'Clan, " to the Sassenach loon." 
 
 Bah Pxillads. 
 
 THE working day was just over. The discord 
 of the steam " hooters " had barely died 
 away when, in the gloom of a November 
 afternoon, we simultaneously boarded a crowded 
 double-decked car at Finnieston. Being Glasgow, 
 as was natural, it rained, but despite the wet a 
 hasty sniff of the interior of the top, with its mingled 
 odours of damp humanity, "thick black" and cheap 
 American cigarettes, the harsh voices punctuated 
 by a fusillade of spitting, drove me to the exposed 
 end. As I backed out he joined me on the narrow 
 seat outside. He, too, spat and remarked, with a 
 sideways jerk of his head : " A hell o' a stink in 
 there, sir. Just like the fo'c'stle o' a tramp." 
 Parenthetically, this cheerful habit of punctuating 
 their conversation by spitting, so prevalent among 
 the Scots working classes, must be considered in 
 its proper light. It is merely an outward 
 manifestation of their sturdy independence of 
 character. 
 
 I turned to have a square look at my companion. 
 Thick-set, but heavy-boned and spare ; full-bearded 
 in curly brown streaked with grey ; carmine com- 
 plexion and pale blue eyes with pupils narrowed 
 to pin-points and marked across the centre with the 
 yellow trade-mark that follows a lifetime of peering 
 through narrowed lids into scudding drift, it did not 
 need his double-breasted reefer suit and navy cap 
 to proclaim his calling, nor that the official badges 
 were only " for the duration." He ran an appraising 
 
 73
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 eye over my uniform, finally dwelling on my ancient 
 breeches, 
 
 "Ye'll be in the cavalry, like, sir?" he hazarded, 
 in the delightful sing-song that proclaimed the East 
 Neuk. I admitted it, but pointed out that breeches 
 and spurs were nothing to judge by in these days 
 when the non-combatant branches of the Service 
 so blithely array themselves in what they fondly 
 imagine are riding-breeches. 
 
 " Huh I " said he, " fine I ken a horseman. Here, 
 sir, I workit on a fairm afore I went tae sea. Up by 
 Kilconquhar " — he pronounced it Kinyucher — " and 
 mony's the meet o' the Fife I wis at. Here, sir, 
 these wis the days. The auld maister wis alive then 
 — gran' turnouts : aye, and real gentry tae. An' the 
 wimmeni Fizzers, sir. Fizzers, sir, jist that. But 
 things is a' changed noo. They wis changin' afore 
 the war, but Dod kens what it's gaun to be like efter 
 this. They tell me a' the auld places is gettin' sold 
 oot and queer-like folk's gettin' haud o' them. Awfu'- 
 like critters seem tae hae been gettin' a' the siller 
 thae days — an' the titles they're buyin' theirsels. 
 It's a fair disgrace — an' yon Hoose o' Lords ! Dod 
 be here, sir, they'll hae tae pit up a notice : ' Beware 
 o' pick-pockets I ' I dinna ken hoo it is wi' you folk 
 in England — eh? Ye're Scots, are ye? Weel, weel, 
 I wudna hae thocht it. Ye're no sae plain-spoken, 
 like. No that that maitters much nooadays neethir. 
 I dinna ken what's come ower oor folk. They seem 
 fair ashamed tae speak their ain tongue ; sendin' 
 the young ains awa' tae English schools and comin' 
 doon aboot Noarth Berwick and the Elie in the 
 
 74
 
 Type-ical 
 
 summer-time yappin' awa' in what the folks there- 
 aboots used tae ca' advocates' English. Set them up ! 
 Fair flummoxed a body tae understaun' them. An' 
 here, sir, what dae ye think o' the English? Cheery 
 yins but queer-like folk, tae. I had seen verra little 
 o' them afore the war. Ye'll mebbe no believe it, sir, 
 but I wis never oot o' Scotland exccptin' wance I 
 gied sooth as faur's Carlisle an', bavvrin' the wey 
 they hae o' speakin', I'm thinkin' they're gey like 
 oorsels yonder. I wis doon at a guid-brither's 
 funeral. Mebbe a wee thing quicker than us, but 
 aye gettin' on tae ye. Oh ! ye're in an English 
 regiment, are ye? Ah, weel, ye'll be a' the better 
 able tae size them up. Weel, as I wis sayin', I workit 
 at the fairmin' for a bit, but I aye had a notion for 
 the sea. So I gied the land the go-bye an' I've been 
 at the fishin' noo for mony a year. An' at the 
 hinner end I had a third share in a guid-sized yowl 
 oot o' the Ainster. Aye, an' daein' richt weel, tae. 
 Then fair on tap o' that cam' the war ; an' here I am 
 — mine-sweepin' maistly, an' whiles ither things. 
 There's a feck o' mysteerious wark been gaun on 
 oot-bye yonder i' the Noarth Sea, I'm tellin' ye. 
 Weel, it's a' ower noo, or jist aboot, an' I'll no be 
 sorry tae settle doon again, for its gey hazardous 
 wark yon : an' yet still anon, a lot o' us'll miss it. I 
 canna jist say what wey — that's a joab for they 
 writin' chaps tae explain — but fine I ken there's 
 mony a nicht tae come, when I'll be sittin' at the 
 side o' the fire, that I'll be findin' masel wishin' I 
 wis back intilt a' again. There was aye somethin' 
 gaun on. When it's no' the mines themsels, there's 
 
 75
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 them damt Zeeps flingin' things doon at ye, an' then 
 there's aye the chance o' ane o' thae submarines 
 gettin' tae windward o' ye. Dirty cowards for the 
 maist pairt unless so be as they've gotten a saft 
 thing. Here, sir, it's no this Kaiser felley I'm 
 worryin' aboot ; it's the hale damt lot o' them that 
 wud be nane the waur o' a guid hangin'. I mind 
 five guid felleys on a yowl oot o' Pittenweem, twa 
 o' them cousins o' my ain, were pickit afif ae day by 
 thae swine. The yowl had a wee motor an' made 
 a fair try at gettin' awa'. But this submarine jist 
 stood aff and pit shot efter shot intil her till they 
 sunk her, and then stood by an' watched the 
 wounded droon. We rescued a bit laddie they had 
 on board — that wis a'. Doon she gaed when she saw 
 us : but jist a thocht lang aboot it — aye, we had her 
 markit doon, an' I tell ye, sir, we didna leave her till 
 we'd feenished her aff. No, as I say, it isna this 
 Kaiser alane that needs punishin' ; it's the hale 
 clam-jamfray o' them. 
 
 " Weel, when I first jined up I wis the only Scots- 
 man aboard — a' English, an' frae the first meenit I 
 pit ma fit ower the ship's side they kind o' yokit on 
 tae me. But pleesant wi' it a'. Oh aye, cheery 
 felleys, but, as I'm sayin', aye gettin' on tae ye. Noo 
 I'm apt tae gaun slow. 'Jouk an' let the jaw gae 
 bye,' as the folks say, and it's no' a bad motty 
 neethir, and forbye I wis amang strangers, ye see. 
 So I jist took it a' as it cam'. There was ain yonder, 
 ain they ca'd Rimmer, frae oot aboot Lancashire. A 
 big beefy-faced felley, kind o' saft tae look at, but 
 game though — 'deed aye, I'll gie intil that. There's 
 76
 
 Type-ical 
 
 mony a German lyin' aboot the Noarth Sea tac his 
 credit. Weel, this yin Rimmer he wis aye on tae 
 me wi' his jokes aboot us Scots folk needin' scartin' 
 posts an' hangin' on tae oor saxpences an' a' that 
 kin' o' thing. Aye laughin' — maistly at his ain jokes, 
 I'll say — but a guid felley wi' it a'. Noo, I'm thinkin' 
 he wis kin' o' type-ical o' thae English, dae ye see? 
 Maister Balsillie (he wis oor meenister at hame and 
 terrible fond o' big words), he wis aye ca'in' things 
 type-ical, so I wud say that this yin Rimmer, he wis 
 fair type-ical. 
 
 "'Hoo is it,' he wance askit me, 'if you damt 
 Scotch is that clever, that ye're no' captain o' the 
 gun yet ? ' He workit the forrit gun, ye see, sir. 
 ' Haud a wee,' says I, ' haud a wee. I'm jist new 
 come aboard. Gie's a bit o' time.' Weel, man — sir, 
 I mean — I liket the felley. He wis sich a cheery 
 yin ; aye, an' he dune his wark richt weel, forbye. 
 But jist, as I'm sayin', kin' o' type-ical o' the lot, an' 
 wi' it a', him an' me got kind o' thick. An' generous 
 tae, oh aye. He'd aye be ready tae sink his haun' 
 when we wis ashore. But he liket his bit o' fun — 
 oot o' ither folk. An' a rare singer tae — at nicht, ye 
 ken. Ain o' the ither yins he had a concerteeny. 
 Weel, ae day we'd gotten a bit o' leave, him an' me, 
 an' we gaed ashore thegither. I'll no' say whaur, 
 but ae thing led tae anither, until — weel, here, sir, 
 ye'll mebbe ken hoo it is yersel', tho' nae doot in a 
 different wey. When ye've been a wee thing lang 
 aff it, ye're apt for tae let the tail gang wi' the hide, 
 as the folks wud say, an' that's jist hoo it wis wi' us 
 that time. A terrible day we had thegither, an' nae 
 
 17
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 lack o' help neethir. Folks is far ower generous, 
 though nae doot they're no' meanin' nae hairm. 
 Aye, an' the lassies tae — I'm no that auld," and he 
 leaned towards me confidentially. " Here, sir, we 
 wis fair awa' the trip yon day ! I'll no say whaur it 
 wis, but I'm weel kent yonder and the folks wis richt 
 glad to see's. An' this yin Rimmer wis the kind o' 
 felley that gets on wi' folk. A' weel, sir, I'll say 
 nae mair, but it wis gettin' late and dark when we 
 gaed afif doon and tried tae fetch the hairbour, 
 steerin' a' roads at wance. An' here, sir, I dinna 
 mind tellin' ye that I got kind o' frichtened. I wis 
 gey foo masel, but quiet, if ye understaun', sir — that's 
 hoo it taks me — but this yin Rimmer, Dod be here, 
 he wis singin' like a linty — no, he wisna, he wis 
 roarin' like a bull. No' that it maittered there- 
 aboots, but fine I kent what wis afore us. So I 
 cleekit him by the airm an' got him stairtit afif awa' 
 wast the beach tae kind o' walk it aff, like. But 
 damn the fear. We hadna gotten clear o' the hooses 
 when he stoppit an' yokit ontil me for takin' him 
 awa' frae his guid kind freens. Syne he began tae 
 greet — an awfu' haun'fu' for a sober man tae deal 
 wi'. Did I say that? Weel, weel, mebbe I wis. 
 But, ye see, I wis able tae think, and if a man can 
 dae that he's no' sae bad. I'm fond o' a dram — an' 
 so's maist folk if they'd jist be honest aboot it. An' 
 I'm thinkin' if they'd gie the folk mair tae drink, an' 
 better stuff, an' no' hae closed up the public-hooses 
 as they did, they'd hae fewer o' them hangin' aboot 
 the corners hatchin' oot mischeef. But that's jist 
 my ain opeenion — nae doot thae lawyer bodies that 
 
 7^
 
 Type-kal 
 
 seems tae hae chairge o' the hale country kens best. 
 VVeel, back we cam, stottin' through the toon. A 
 raivelin' kind o' place yon — I thocht I'd never get 
 him through't, and naethin' wud dae him but he 
 maun sweem aff tae the ship. Did ever ye hear the 
 like ! Aye, an' he'd hae dune it, tae. But I got a 
 haun' frae some o' them that wis thereaboots, an' 
 after a terrible wrestlin' an' coaxin', I got him shoved 
 intil the bit boatie and pit aff. I stairted pu'in' awa 
 east a bit up the shore tae gie him time tae quieten 
 doon — mcbbe he'll fa' asleep, thinks I. But na, nae 
 fear. He spottit it, an' syne he stairted tae kick up 
 sic a racket that I'd tae turn the boatie's heid for oor 
 ain ship. 
 
 " Here, sir, I didna ken what tae dae. I had nae 
 marks against me an' I wisna gaun tae ower-stop 
 ma leave, an' yet here wis this yin Rimmer : I'll tell 
 ye, sir, twa three times I wis fair tempted for tae 
 clash him ower the side and gie him the sweem he 
 wis ettlin' for ; but ugh, weel, he wis a decent felley, 
 an' it's jist the different wey it taks folk — forbye I 
 kent he couldna sweem an' neethir could I. 
 
 " Eh ? Mebbe ye wud think sae, sir, but nane o' us 
 fisher folk can sweem — we see ower muckle o' the 
 watter tae want tae get intil it. Forbye, there's the 
 bother o' pittin' aff yer claes. Weel, we gets alang- 
 side, this yin Rimmer roarin' oot sangs till ye micht 
 o' heerd him at St Abb's; an' I didna waste time 
 gettin' aboard, I can tell ye, though a terrible wark 
 I had tae git Jmn ower the side. Aff forrit we gets, 
 me tryin' tae shove him on. But no, damn the 
 bit. He wud stop here and argufy there till the 
 
 79
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 officer o' the watch jist had tae tak' notice. A 
 richt proper felley lie wis, tae. An Australian, dae 
 ye believe me : sailin' oot o' London on ane o' thae 
 big Lines an', like a' the rest o' thae Colonials, no' 
 botherin' us ower muckle wi' discipleen sae lang's 
 we did oor wark. An', ma word, he kent his. He's 
 wearin' twa medals a'ready, an', by Goad, he earned 
 them ! Forbye, ye dinna need muckle discipleen 
 wi' auld felleys like us yins, an' speecially on them 
 kind o' ships. Weel, even wi' that I couldna stop 
 Rimmer, the bletherin' bitch. We micht hae gotten 
 bye wi' jist mebbe a word o' comfort, as the sayin' is, 
 but no ! Damt if yon Rimmer didna think fit tae 
 stairt his yammerin'. That feenished it. Here, sir, 
 wha' a tonguin' we got ! He fair sand-papered the 
 pair o' us, an' me no sayin' a word. I stood there 
 swingin' back an' forrit ; whiles on my taes and 
 whiles on my heels, jist for a' the warld like ane o' 
 yon habby horses at the fairs, an', when I judged 
 he micht be lookin' at me, I pit up ma haun' an' gied 
 him a wee bit salute — nae hairm, thinks I, it'll mebbe 
 please him. 
 
 " But here's the Central an' I'm gettin' aff. The 
 end o't.? There it's," he replied, and shoved an arm 
 under my eyes, the deltoid bulging like the leg of a 
 billiard-table. " See that badge, sir ?" and I looked 
 at the red worsted. "■ Fm the captain o' the gun. 
 Rimmer, he's cairryin' the ammuneetion." 
 
 80
 
 The Coroner's Tale 
 
 Then shall the slayer return and come unto his own tity ; and 
 unto his own house, unto the city from whence he fled. 
 
 Joshua. 
 
 THE rumour of an Armistice in the Great 
 War had become a fact. Peace had broken 
 out almost as unexpectedly as war and for 
 the better part of the week London lost its head, 
 while the Men Who Won The War showed gracious 
 tolerance towards the Press photographers. 
 
 But not everywhere was the news welcome. War 
 had become the national industry and the gangs of 
 low-caste Caledonians and Cymrian sweepings that 
 had swarmed to join the ^lite of Clapham in the 
 mushroom Departments were righteously indignant 
 at the interruption. Never had there been such 
 a splendid war. True, men and even boys were 
 suffering and dying somewhere for some foolish ideal, 
 but unless they were supported from behind . . . 
 It was a comforting thought. Timorously they had 
 arrived in the Metropolis with their umbrellas, 
 noses twitching like rats' for any scent of danger, 
 but emboldened and flourishing under the lead of 
 Cassius and Barabbas, the idea of having to return to 
 their former ill-paid obscurity just when they were 
 solving the mysteries of evening kit, the ordering of 
 dinner in " restrongs " and learning not to call it a 
 serviette, was a painful thought, and they fought as 
 only such cattle can to screw their jobs down into 
 permanencies or to hold them till at least they could 
 cadge the label of their tribe. 
 
 With a helpful arm from Meredith we took our 
 
 lives in our hands and, as fast as two crocks might, 
 
 F 8i
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 made a dash for an island in the maelstrom that 
 Kingsway becomes on a November night. There our 
 car had reappeared that day for the first time since 
 having been swiftly cached early on Armistice morn- 
 ing. It was a precious car, a real English bus with 
 power and comfort. Previously we had been running 
 our under-staffed show with a wretched Ford which 
 would never start the day's work until some of 
 " Uncle Sam's Boys," who, fortunately for our lady 
 drivers, abounded in Kingsway, had been delighted 
 to display strength and skill with the handle. 
 Having been started, the rattletrap then selected the 
 busiest spots in London, the Strand for choice, to 
 lower its raucous voice to a hiccup and lie down. 
 Mercifully, evil men stole it one day from our very 
 door and probably never in the history of crime have 
 thieves been so fervently blessed. When we reached 
 the cherished vehicle we saw our driver, who was as 
 capable as she was comely, lightly gripping by one 
 arm the smallest, neatest and most delightful Early 
 Victorian old gentleman that ever stepped out of a 
 daguerreotype. 
 
 As we loomed up out of the mirk he changed a 
 leather bag he carried from his right hand to what 
 he thought was his left, although it was our driver 
 who caught it, and raised his old-fashioned silk hat 
 as he spoke. " Gentleman, I — I must apologise. I — 
 I do not know — I — I find this place so bewilder- 
 ing and really " 
 
 " He seems lost and thought I was a taxi," our 
 driver broke in as if he had not been there, "and 
 wanted to hire me." " My dear young lady," said 
 82
 
 The Coroner* s Tale 
 
 the old gentleman, " I do most sincerely apologise to 
 you and to the officers for my unwarrantable error, 
 and if any of you would only be kind enough to tell 
 
 me where Ah ! there is one," and he broke 
 
 away to run with funny little steps at a passing taxi- 
 cab, the driver of which, of course, took not the 
 slightest notice. Dropping his bag, after him sped 
 our driver, who while talking to us had eased her 
 hold on his arm. Retrieving him from underneath 
 the bonnet of a barging bus and straightening his 
 hat, she brought him back like a nurse with a 
 frightened child. "Where do you want to go to? " 
 said Meredith and I simultaneously, thinking along 
 the same lines. " I — I wish to make a call in Queen 
 Anne Street ; you may perhaps know Doctor Ewart 
 there," and the dear old soul spoke as if we were in 
 a small provincial town. " I got into St Pancras' 
 Station about two o'clock " — it was then six — " and I 
 am very much afraid that I have got somewhat out 
 of my way ; indeed, I frankly do not know my 
 whereabouts in the least. You see, I have not been 
 in London for many years and, dear me, how every- 
 thing has changed, and I have besides received a 
 terrible shock to-day, a terrible shock indeed." 
 
 Without speaking, Meredith took his bag and 
 opened the car door, and as I assisted the delightful 
 old gentleman to enter, which he did unquestioningly, 
 our driver, grasping the intention, bent to the crank. 
 She was such a treasure, and that is a statement 
 made with conviction — we had had others. Just 
 consider for a moment the plight of a little, frail old 
 gentleman (I never discovered his age, but he looked 
 
 83
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 eighty at least) wandering about in the crowded rabble 
 of the streets of London in Armistice week for nearly 
 four hours, carrying a bag, and unable to get taxi, 
 Tube, bus or his bearings. Assuring him as he chirped 
 his heartfelt thanks, for when we settled him between 
 us he became quite talkative under the reaction of 
 being rescued, that it was really on our way, he 
 explained that he was only making a short call at 
 Queen Anne Street in order to hand over some 
 papers, and then he would require to go on to Golder's 
 Green to pay another visit. 
 
 " But how do you propose to reach Golder's 
 Green?" asked the practical Meredith. " Has your 
 friend, this doctor man, got a car?" "Oh dear me, 
 no ! He is extremely clever, but quite poor," the old 
 gentleman replied, almost as if he had advanced a 
 qualification of distinction, as indeed it was fast 
 becoming. Again simultaneously, in our anxiety to 
 salve the simple creature, we asked him how he 
 intended or hoped to reach there. " Oh, I — surely I 
 shall be able to get some sort of conveyance as the 
 rush of the day's work draws to a close?" "My 
 dear sir," we assured him, " the rush is only beginning. 
 Every taxi on the streets to-night will have a horde 
 of hooligans and profiteers after it. But supposing 
 you do manage to reach Golder's Green, what then ? 
 Are you going to spend the night there ? " " Oh 
 dear me, no," he answered ; " I shall only be there a 
 few moments, just as at Queen Anne Street, and then 
 I shall go to a hotel." 
 
 It was too serious to be comical, and as Meredith 
 had but recently been married and had gone to dwell 
 84
 
 The Coroner's Tale 
 
 in some remote suburb, while I lived in virtuous 
 grass-widowerhood in Knightsbridge, it was clearly 
 my job, so nodding assent to his questioning glance 
 across the prehistoric topper nestling between us, 
 I said to the owner of it : " Now, sir, you say that 
 you have not been here for many years, so let me 
 tell you at once that in London to-night you will 
 get neither taxi, dinner nor bed. What I propose is 
 this : We shall wait for you at Queen Anne Street and 
 then take you on to Golder's Green ; it is on the way 
 to the garage so don't let that worry you." It was 
 not, strictly speaking, unless any circuitous route is 
 on the way, and I doubt in any case if he knew what 
 a garage was, but let us hope the Recording Angel 
 will let that one pass, and sixpenceworth of Govern- 
 ment petrol in a humane cause did not seem much 
 when we were being swindled out of millions daily. 
 " After that," I continued, " the car will drop me at 
 my place, where I can make you comfortable for 
 the night, and we can be sure of some sort of dinner 
 at the club." Hardly comprehending, he gratefully 
 acquiesced, like the little child that toddles along 
 with its hand confidingly in the grasp of a self- 
 conscious policeman. I leaned forward and explained 
 in a few words to our driver, who, bless her, cheerfully 
 offered to take our foundling anywhere. 
 
 Our troubles began at Queen Anne Street, where 
 our guest found that he had forgotten the number, 
 but vowed that he could remember the house, and 
 it was only after he had spotted several as being his 
 doctor's that a shout from Meredith, who had been 
 drawing one side looking for brass plates while the 
 
 85
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 car cruised up the other, announced our first find. 
 True to his statement, he did not keep us waiting 
 long, and tucking him in again, we headed for the 
 classic shades of Golder's Green. Our Queen Anne 
 Street experience started us early inquiring as to 
 what our aged waif knew of the whereabouts of 
 his second house of call. " Frankly," he said, " after 
 Queen Anne Steeet I do not feel the same confidence. 
 London seems to have in every way changed so, but 
 I fancy I can direct you, and after all I have the 
 name ; he also is a doctor, so is sure to be well known 
 in the district." His infantile trustfulness was quite 
 touching. " There ! " he suddenly exclaimed, as after 
 much wandering we passed the end of a wide lane 
 of houses, " I feel sure it lies up there." Swinging 
 round, we passed up the road, but he could identify 
 nothing. After the garish racket of London the 
 place seemed like a city of the dead. Meredith 
 the married was getting a little peevish in his 
 questions, so, noticing a solitary special constable, 
 I stopped the car and stepped out. With a strong 
 Morayshire accent he announced that he not only 
 knew the doctor we sought, but as the air raids were 
 over, and as he was feeling thoroughly bored, he 
 would gladly guide us there. We took him in, and 
 having seen our wanderer pay his second call we 
 were soon dropped at Knightsbridge, and Meredith 
 with the driver passed on into the night and out of 
 the story. 
 
 Only waiting long enough to leave his bag and 
 give him the stimulant he so badly needed, I soon 
 had the old curiosity settled to food and drink at 
 86
 
 The Coroner s Tale 
 
 the club. lie was very silent during the meal, nor 
 did I disturb him, but after his first i^lass of port 
 he revived and began to talk. You must imagine 
 his quaint, fastidious, deliberate diction. " Sir," he 
 began, "you have indeed been my Good Samaritan, 
 and I ofTer you my heartfelt thanks, I see now that 
 I took much for granted in venturing to London 
 alone at such a time. Besides the fatigue of the 
 day, which I only realised when I reached your 
 hospitable abode, I have, as I think I remember 
 telling you and your kind friend, suffered a very 
 great shock to-day. I am old, you see, and my 
 nerves naturally are a little frayed, and for a time 
 it nearly deprived me of my senses. Indeed, if it 
 will not unduly strain your patience, I feel impelled 
 to tell you of it. Perhaps you know what it means 
 to feel that you must unbosom yourself and possibly 
 you do not know the Dale country? No? Well, 
 so much the safer." 
 
 And this is the Coroner's tale : 
 
 " I am a Coroner in a district there. No, we do 
 not pronounce it ' Crowner,' that is a Cockney habit," 
 he replied to my query. " In that country we live 
 scattered about in wide, almost uninhabited stretches 
 of hill and dale, broken only here and there with 
 the sheep farmers' slaty dykes. Towns and villages 
 are few, and neighbours far apart in that bleak country, 
 and while some parts are truly beautiful and even 
 attract occasional tourists, with its rains and keen 
 winds it is not a region a stranger would deliberately 
 choose to settle in, and with the young ones spread- 
 ing their wings, population seems to slip back. Yet 
 
 87
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 it has a strange fascination for those born there. In 
 a modest fashion I have travelled and seen men and 
 cities. I studied at Oxford and Heidelberg and 
 Rome, yet I returned to settle in practice amongst 
 my native hills and dales with great happiness, and 
 I rejoice to think that, thanks to your goodness, sir," 
 and he bowed with an old-fashioned courtesy, " I 
 shall once again sleep there to-morrow night. Some 
 years ago, perhaps five and twenty, a woman, one 
 of the daughters of a long-deceased innkeeper in our 
 little town, returned from abroad and took up her 
 abode amongst us, bringing with her a boy, the son 
 of a recently dead married sister, with whom it 
 appears she had resided in Canada for many years. 
 As she herself was unmarried, gossip, ever malicious, 
 spread uncharitable reports. Has, I wonder, our 
 much-praised civilisation and progress, with its wor- 
 ship of what people call success, improved us? I 
 greatly fear not. My race is nearly run and some- 
 times I am compelled to think that I shall leave a 
 much worse world than it was when I entered it. 
 
 Yet one hopes one may be wrong, surely, surely " 
 
 And he shook his head sadly and gazed abstractedly 
 across the room for a moment, then resumed : 
 
 " Undisturbed, although she could not be in 
 ignorance of it, she devoted herself to the boy. Tall 
 and strong and handsome he grew. Strangely 
 taciturn, and mixing little with the other lads, he 
 had one passion, horses. I am myself no horseman 
 although in my younger days I enjoyed making my 
 rounds on a cob, but to me a good man on a good 
 horse has always seemed a beautiful thing. There 
 88
 
 The Coroner s Tale 
 
 was nothing on four legs that he could not master, 
 and people came to bring unbroken colts from long 
 distances for him to handle, and I never knew him to 
 fail. As his aunt had apprenticed him to a local 
 blacksmith and wheelwright — you know, I imagine, 
 the kind of country artisan that I mean — the youth 
 had his hands full, which is a great blessing for the 
 young. He was also devoted to boxing, and with 
 his animal-like quickness and extraordinary strength 
 he greatly excelled, and would travel miles to have 
 a mill with one of the professors, as they called 
 themselves, who went about in the travelling shows 
 which at that time were still common, quartering 
 the country-side with their vans. I, of course, have 
 no knowledge, but I used to hear people who knew 
 say that had he gone to one of the great cities he 
 would have won fame, but though several tried to 
 persuade him, he preferred his own life. Wayward 
 and headstrong, he would brook no control, and one 
 day he quarrelled and actually came to blows with 
 his master, the smith. Although he thrashed the 
 older man, it meant that his steady occupation 
 ceased, but it happened that a small inn just outside 
 the town fell vacant, and with his savings and his 
 aunt's help he was able to establish himself there, 
 she keeping house for him. With that and his skill 
 at horse-breaking and shoeing, for he was a most 
 industrious fellow, he prospered. It pleased me, for 
 I — I was greatly interested in him, and rejoiced to 
 see such a headstrong youth settling down. It was 
 about this time that he met his wife. She was the 
 daughter of a small sheep farmer some distance away, 
 
 89
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 which may have accounted for their never meeting 
 till one day, having ridden over a horse he had been 
 breaking for her father, he saw her, fell violently in 
 love with her in his headstrong fashion, and they 
 were married almost immediately. 
 
 " Although they both begged the aunt to remain 
 with them, she returned to her old house in the 
 town. Had she remained, who knows but that a 
 tragedy might have been averted. Although there 
 were no children, the marriage seemed a success. 
 Then apparently a little rift began. Although I 
 feel certain that he loved her passionately, he was 
 outwardly cold and undemonstrative and insanely 
 jealous, while she, as women sometimes will, hankered 
 after company and little attentions. A strangely 
 attractive creature she was, not precisely beautiful, 
 but always with a soft appeal about her. I — I can 
 think of no other word to describe it than the word 
 herrengeschmack. I feel that one perhaps ought not 
 to use that language after all that has passed, but 
 doubtless it conveys all that I mean." 
 
 I assured him that I comprehended thoroughly. 
 
 "Well," he continued, "what I suppose was 
 inevitable happened just as if it were in a cheap 
 melodrama. Two artists on a walking tour — for I 
 have told you that our country-side has a wild, weird 
 beauty of its own — arrived one day at the inn and 
 rested there that night. Next day one went on 
 alone; the other remained. I only saw him once — 
 alive, and he has left no impression — a colourless 
 individual. I do not think he personally had any 
 attraction for the poor, misguided creature. He 
 
 90
 
 The Coroner s Tale 
 
 merely crossed her path when her soul was in revolt 
 
 at what she doubtless considered was her husband's 
 
 neglect, and had drifted into it before she realised 
 
 what she was doing. Who dare throw a stone? My 
 
 house lies at a little distance beyond the outskirts of 
 
 the town at the other end from where the inn stood. 
 
 We call it town, although it is little more than one 
 
 long, straggling street. As is my habit, I was one 
 
 night sitting reading in my study on the ground 
 
 floor. I am unmarried, and my housekeeper had 
 
 long since gone to bed, for I was later than is usual 
 
 with me, so when I heard a tap on my window I did 
 
 not hesitate to unlock and open the house door 
 
 myself. A country doctor gets accustomed to such 
 
 things. The night was pitch dark, and coming from 
 
 my lighted room I could not for a moment distinguish 
 
 who was my late visitor till he spoke, and then I 
 
 recognised my — my young friend, the blacksmith of 
 
 the inn. At that time I had no suspicion of trouble 
 
 in his home, and while wondering at the lateness of 
 
 the hour, for it was past midnight and we are early 
 
 people in those parts, I welcomed him in, for, as I 
 
 have told you, I had a fondness for the lad, or man 
 
 as he then was. He entered my room but did not 
 
 speak. Without asking my permission, which he 
 
 would always do, for his aunt had brought him up 
 
 strictly, really much above his station, he sat down 
 
 heavily in an arm-chair beside the fireplace, and 
 
 gripping the arms he remained bolt upright, staring 
 
 into the dying fire, still silent, I seated myself 
 
 opposite to him, and then for the first time I saw his 
 
 face. Although ordinarily I am not a coward, I felt a 
 
 91
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 wave of sheer physical terror. It was the face of a 
 demon, not a man. For some moments we sat there 
 in silence, and although I struggled to ask him what 
 had happened, my tongue refused its office. Then 
 his eyes left the fire and, looking me full in the face, 
 without faltering, he told me his story slowly, bring- 
 ing each sentence out with a wrench. More than 
 once I raised my hand in horror to check him, but 
 he continued remorselessly to the end, sparing me no 
 detail, and the light, not in his eyes, but behind them, 
 filled me with a fear I cannot describe to you. He 
 had left early that morning to go to a market town 
 some distance away from ours, and from which he 
 could not possibly get back till the next day. He 
 seems, however, to have changed his mind when 
 about half-way there and gone to some other place 
 in connection with a deal in horses ; I have told you 
 of his fondness for them. Returning unexpectedly 
 the same night, he had surprised his wife with this 
 artist literally in flctgrante. He had knocked the 
 wretched fellow senseless and, locking the wailing 
 girl in the house, had carried him — I have told you 
 of his great strength — to the smithy. There he tore 
 every stitch of clothes off him, and screwing him into 
 a vice on the bench, knocked the handle out, and 
 going into his kitchen returned with a large knife 
 and placed it within reach of the wretch's hand. He 
 then went back for his wife. He threw the half- 
 demented creature over his shoulder and put her in 
 beside the man, bound her to the anvil, gagged and 
 left her. 
 
 " He rose to his feet when he finished speaking, and 
 92
 
 The Coroner's Tale 
 
 to have saved my life I could not have moved. Next 
 moment, without one other word, he was gone. Re- 
 covering myself, I hurried to the house door, which 
 he had left open, but he had vanished into the night. 
 I called his name, but there was not a sound. I got 
 back somehow to my room, and as I tried to pour 
 myself out some brandy I found my hands shaking 
 like those of a palsied creature. How long I sat 
 trying to think, I cannot recall, but some time during 
 the early morning hours I heard the sounds of foot- 
 steps running in my avenue. I started to my feet 
 and reached the house door, which in my agitation I 
 had left open, just as one of the local people ran up. 
 He gasped out his news. The guilty pair had been 
 found in the smithy by some person who had called 
 at the inn. The man was quite dead when they 
 got him and the poor girl died in a mad-house a few 
 years later. 
 
 " To-day," and it seemed to me that his voice 
 dropped and he spoke more slowly, " near the railway 
 station at which I arrived, walking towards me I saw 
 the murderer, for that he undoubtedly was, whatever 
 his provocation. He was dressed as a Colonial 
 soldier, I do not know the differences between them, 
 and walked as straight as ever. Nothing could bow 
 those shoulders, but his head was sunk forward, and 
 though he is still young his hair was white and his 
 face the face of a dead man. He looked at me — no, 
 not at me, but through me, without any sign of re- 
 cognition. As he passed I saw that his sleeve had 
 a number of those wound stripes, and he seemed like 
 a man, too brave to die by his own hand, who had 
 
 93
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 sought the death he would have welcomed and had 
 failed to find. The next instant he had been 
 swallowed up in the crowd. My God! I had let 
 him go ! I — had — let — him — go ! " and placing his 
 elbows on the table he buried his face in his frail 
 hands. 
 
 Feeling slightly uncomfortable, I asked him quietly 
 what else he could or would have done, and in a 
 whisper I caught the words : " He — is — my — son." 
 
 94
 
 The Plains 
 
 Tracked inc ljy the cunips I'd quitted, used the water-holes I'd 
 
 hollowed. 
 
 They'll go back and do the talking. They'll be called the 
 
 Pioneers ! 
 
 Kipling's The Explorer. 
 
 IT was late, the poverty-stricken fire was flicker- 
 ing, and as coal was scarce in those clays no 
 one cared to make free with the few pieces in 
 the scuttle, so the studio, never very warm, began to 
 grow uncomfortably colder. The whisky, scarcer 
 even than coal, was long ago finished, and more than 
 one of those sitting round had begun to yawn wearily 
 when Whisky Bill breezed in. Now as Whisky Bill 
 (so called because in his own words he "stayed 
 drunk for twelve years : I reckon I must be pretty 
 hardy!") drank tea only, the remaining lumps of 
 coal were slung on and we all came to life again. 
 It is well perhaps to remember such apparently un- 
 important things : they indicate the times we lived 
 through. The United States had just "come in" 
 and Bill, like a good American, had much to say. 
 Rising at six o'clock, partly from old habits formed 
 on the plains and partly from customs acquired dur- 
 ing those twelve lurid years, he breakfasted quite 
 happily at a coffee-stall and started immediately 
 "rootin' around fer noospapers," so that by night 
 he was considerably stocked with the day's news. 
 As he pulled the sheets forth one after another, to 
 noisily abuse a writer or to confirm a reference, he 
 became so covered over, that at the finish he looked 
 like the framework of a melting snow man. 
 
 "Well, I guess you people's all awful glad that 
 America's quit sendin' Notes and gettin' busy," he 
 
 95
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 began. " Yuh'll see some HI' movement happenin' 
 here an' there now. Why, you people over here's that 
 dam tied up with tradition, that yuh spend half yuh 
 precious time lookin' up Magna Charta to see if he'll 
 let yuh doit. I don't hold with the States interferin'in 
 Yurrup,' taint our funeral, but I'd like to interpolate 
 jest here that it sounds to me as if Wall Street's 
 lookin' ahead a morsel an' bin havin' a word with old 
 man Woodrow over the wire, for if we don't take a hand 
 pretty sharp and pull you all out of yuh troubles by 
 the seat o' yuh pants an' generally swap up the mess, 
 we won't have no one left to trade with in Yurrup and 
 the Japs walkin' right into Asia by the back door 
 an' trouserin' all the concessions. No, sir ! We're 
 in on this as a commercial proposition or nothin', 
 an' your hot air merchants that's busy pushin' out 
 the jam an' honey an' workin' the blood-thicker-than- 
 water stunt can let up soon's they like. But the 
 sickest crowd of the whole push to-day's the Japs, 
 not them squareheads over the Rhine. Why, hell ! 
 the minute the first Yankee gun lands in France 
 the Germans'll drop the barrow. They think we're 
 bluffin' just at present but when we get a move on 
 they'll throw in their hand for sure, but the Japs ! 
 They'll be as mad as hornets ! Why, before this 
 war the States was just a big carcass for Japan to 
 take bites out of. Ever read Homer Lea ? No, yuh 
 wouldn't ; yuh that dam complacent yuh don't read 
 nothin' that's makin' history. Well, Lea, he'd been 
 goin' into things a HI' bit and he'd got the notion all 
 right, but instead of wakenin' people up, Homer 
 loses his job an' the Japs get wise to the whole 
 96
 
 The Plains 
 
 proposition. Why, they could have landed annies 
 anywheres along the Pacifi Coast or Mexico an' lived 
 on the country till the cows came home, but they've 
 missed their chance an' soon's ever this scrappin's 
 stopped in Yurrup, the Statcs'll have such an army 
 an' navy an' organisation, that the next time Japan 
 speaks above a whisper they'll blow her to hell. 
 And it'll come. Why it's that sure yuh could bet 
 on it. Yuh can't give a boy a rifle an' not expect 
 him to use it — 'taint nat'r'l. Now we'll have this 
 dam great army an' navy an' we'll use it just as sure 
 as you're a jampot an' a half high. They'll have 
 the bloodiest sort of shivaroo in the old Pacific, 
 an' Japan's peaceful penetration o' them Fillipeanut 
 Islands an' places'll come to a sudden halt an' I 
 can't see the Australians sheddin' many tears over it 
 neither. We're a bit half-hearted about this shivoo 
 in Yurrup, I'll admit, and we're comin' in more in 
 sorrow than in anger. We're mighty shy on the 
 imperialistic proposition but you jest wait till we've 
 got some guy sassin' us good and plenty over our 
 own fence, an' tryin' to annex something that we 
 reckon should be comin' our way, then I guess you'll 
 hear the eagle scream an' the bands playin' ' My 
 country 'tis of thee ' from Behring Straits to Key 
 West. 
 
 "Why, when the Japs started in complainin' about 
 the way they was bein' treated in California we just 
 climbed plumb down. We kttoo we'd got nothin' to 
 fight with, same as your radical push here before the 
 war, an' like your crowd our political bosses handed 
 out the warm grip an' went back to their jobs an' 
 G 97
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 did nothin'. There's not a hoot in hell o' difference 
 'twixt your political outfit and ours 'ceptin' that our 
 bunch is frank an' open grafters, an' don't care who 
 knows it, an' yours is mostly holy hypocrites an' 
 has along a bunch o' parsons every other Sunday to 
 breakfast an' puts in overtime squarin' the Press. 
 No, I've remarked that the principle's the same ; 
 it's the method that varies, that's all there is to it. 
 In the States a political grafter goes slap right into 
 a noospaper office an' pulls out his cheque-book. 
 Your bright gang delivers a few kind words about 
 Armenia, then wraps up a knighthood an' posts it 
 to the editor and leaves the result to his high-toned 
 patriotism, while their relatives gets busy on con- 
 tracts before the control date comes along. They 
 don't do it themselves no more. No, sir ; they made 
 a bad break oncet. Talkin' about the Press : funny 
 thing too how that Japanese immigration stunt was 
 started. I'll tell yuh some secret history. Why, 
 b'gosh, if we was to get the truth about what's goin' 
 on all around, yuh'd wonder why the Almighty don't 
 get sick of His own handiwork an' blot the whole 
 darned thing out like old man Isaiah prophesied. 
 There was a bunch o' Chicago back-block sweepin's 
 runnin' plantations in Honolulu or some o' them 
 places 'way south, an' they wants cheap labour, so 
 they brings down whole droves of indentured Japs 
 an' both sides is happy. Then the Jap he gets 
 home with his wad o' dollars but no more Honolulu 
 for him. No, sir ! He lights out for the Pacific 
 Coast an' cuts out the old plantation. So the 
 syndicate feels hurt seein' the weeds springin' up 
 98
 
 The Plains 
 
 where dividends should be growin' and starts in to 
 think about it. Now the Jap wasn't doin' no great 
 harm no more'n a Chink. There warn't a lot of 
 him and I guess he's a pretty thrifty citi/.en, but 
 this syndicate wants him back so it digs out a 
 special top-notch silver-tongue merchant and pops 
 him 'cross to 'Frisco. There he steers himself 
 alongside the Trade Union boss an' sez : 'Mike' — 
 he'd be an Irishman, sure thing — ' Mike,' sez he, 
 ' what d'yuh mean lettin' them two-dime yellow Japs 
 come in here, corruptin' the morals of the young 
 an' lowerin' wages till yuh men's Hnin' up on the 
 sidewalk for the early door to the soup kitchens? 
 It's all wrong, Mike. Here's fifty thousand dollars 
 for yuh Union's funds : get busy on it,' an' Mike 
 knocks forty outa the fifty down to himself for luck, 
 an' starts in. Just then Pierpoint or John D. or 
 some o' them financial sharps finds themselves goin' 
 short in Japanese Bonds, so simultaneous an' all 
 unknown to Mike, they starts their noospapers 
 knockin' the Jap, and in half-a-day the whole con- 
 tinent was screamin' like bandicoots an' runnin' us 
 into a war we wasn't fit to fight, 'cos a bunch o' pente- 
 costal sweaters was wantin' cheap labour an' a gang 
 o' millionaires wasn't content with what they'd got." 
 Bill paused and ran both hands through his 
 shock of long grey hair, "bobbed" like a flapper's, and 
 applied himself vigorously to his tea while we others, 
 mostly lame ducks, returned to our experiences on 
 the different fronts, but Bill could not keep out of 
 anything for long. In reality one of the mildest 
 men that ever " plugged a greaser," his narrative 
 
 99
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 style is peculiarly his own. His flashing eye and 
 his megaphone voice, rising to a shout when carried 
 away or contradicted, is positively frightening to a 
 stranger. For artistic combinations of profanity he 
 has a cattleman on an eight-knot River Plate tramp 
 beaten to a cipher. So he broke in, 
 
 " Yuh talk about the loneliness of the desert 'cos 
 yuh did a Fortnum an' Mason nigger-chasin' stunt 
 there. Yuh donno what proper loneliness means. 
 Yuh'd always got some coon to chase or some hobo 
 'ud pop up in the sand an' plug at yuh jest to keep 
 things bright an' lively for yuh an' a string o' camels 
 trottin' up every other day with comforts an' cases o' 
 whisky — no flamin' wonder a Christian can't get a 
 drop o' decent drink here. 
 
 " No ! yuh wanta live there for years same as I 
 did when I was herdin' on the Texas Plains an' then 
 yuh'd get to know what loneliness feels like. Why, 
 I've seen men die of loneliness. Big husky men an' 
 not much troubled with imagination neither nor 
 worryin' much about the old folks at home, who'd as 
 like as not been powerful glad to get quit of them, 
 believe me. Yep, I've seen them fellers jest shrivel 
 up an' die outa sheer dam loneliness. It's a real 
 disease. I've had it all explained to me by one o' 
 them College professors. It jest sorta gets into a 
 feller's system an' there ain't only one cure. When 
 it ketches hold, you've gotta quit, an' beat it for the 
 nearest land of sidewalks and saloons or you'll pass 
 out, sure thing. Yuh jest begin to drop all interest 
 in yuh grub and yuh work, an' what with takin' no 
 food nor drink, yuh jest shrivel up an' die an' the 
 
 100
 
 The Plains 
 
 camp gets right joyful an' cusses, 'cos that gives the 
 boys the trouble o' buryin' yuh an' leaves the outfit 
 a man short an' the work's gotta be split up. No ; 
 there ain't too much sentiment knockin' around on 
 the plains, an' the life makes fellers cold an' hard. 
 If it don't take yuh that way, then it's yuh brain- 
 pan that goes. I remember one of our bunch started 
 in actin' queer, an' after he'd knifed the greaser cook 
 we jest had to shoot him. Oh, yuh needn't look aston- 
 ished ! Self-preservation's man's first an' strongest 
 impulse, an' don't you pretend it ain't. An' the other 
 ginks was pretty dam mad too, for we'd to take the 
 cookin' in turns till the greaser cook come round. My 
 gawd, it does make a feller cold an' hard an' callous 
 a life like that: why, I've seen fellers start in' an' 
 shoot up a whole bunch of Mexican greasers jest for 
 the fun of it. 
 
 " Still an' all, it warn't no bad life for a youngster 
 if this here loneliness didn't get yuh. It gripped me 
 oncet an' the old man he wanted to send me off 
 away home, but it was my first trip, d'yuh see, and 
 bein' young an' keen I jest stayed on and fought it 
 out, but I was gettin' worse an' worse an' my vitality 
 got that low, I hadn't as much in me as would have 
 made a gun wad. So one day, feelin' awful low, 
 I creeps outa camp an' stood up on a bluff over the 
 Frio river, and was jest goin' to throw myself in 
 when I minded I could swim, so I didn't go over. 
 Well, I guess that cured me. Yuh see, it's that dam 
 monotonous. There's nothin' o' this ranchin' life that 
 yuh read about — we was jest in camp right on. We 
 was all in sheep in thar days ; the cattle boom come 
 
 lOI
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 along later, an' though they was as wild as deer they 
 didn't need no great lot of attention. All yuh had 
 to do was to keep 'em movin' an' keep 'em from strayin' 
 and watch the kiyotes. A morsel different from this 
 nice pastoral picture-book shepherd an' his flock that 
 you got over here. We grazed them over countries — 
 not acres — an' we could graze 'em all year round on 
 that short buffalo grass that grev/ all over the plains. 
 Water ! We didn't have no trouble 'bout rustlin' for 
 water neither, 'cept for ourselves, 'cos this here buffalo 
 grass, short, thick, matted stuff, held the dew. No ; the 
 muttons didn't give us no trouble, but them kiyotes 
 did, the gahdam brutes. Nasty mean critters they 
 was. They'd never attack a man, not a pack of 'em, 
 though the grey wolf would : but he seldom come 
 that far south. They'd hang away off all day and 
 then when night was comin' on they'd begin to creep 
 in slow and cunning, an' if yuh didn't have enough 
 men to keep beatin' up round the muttons they'd nip 
 in an' snaffle one as quick as light. In the lambin' 
 season they'd swarm around in thousands, an' it was 
 hell's delight scarin' them off. If there was a moon 
 they'd never come into range, they was that cute, but if 
 it was dark, gees ! they'd come right up to the camp 
 itself, an' steal yuh joint. You'd see their eyes 
 sparklin' bright in the dark an' sometimes get one 
 by firin' at the sparks, but they mostly lay 'way 
 back an' kept us off* our sleep with their howlin'. 
 That was our life year in an' out, and you reckoned 
 yuh hop, skip an' jump in the desert was lonely ! 
 Unless some feller plugged a greaser for amusement 
 we didn't have no scrappin' to liven things up, even 
 102
 
 The Plains 
 
 in them days. The Mexicans was an awful poor lot, 
 an' we was too far away from the Indian territory to 
 be bothered with them, so there was mighty little 
 to break the monotony of it all, 'cept when a bunch 
 of us would cut out some sheep an' drive 'em into a 
 township to sell, or when we struck an alkali patch 
 an' had to shift our grazin' grounds. We didn't 
 know the value o' the smotherin' stuff till some slick 
 feller took a sample along to one of them College 
 professors, an' trousered millions outa the stuff we 
 used to curse for spoilin' our grazin'. Of course 
 all that's long ago : I can go back some spell. 
 When I was in the Middle West, Chicago was no 
 more than a flag station. Why, I was one of the 
 Oklahoma Boomers." 
 
 "The who?" incautiously asked one who did not 
 know Bill. 
 
 *' What ! D'yuh mean to say yuh never heard of 
 the Oklahoma Boomers ?" cried Bill, his voice rising 
 to a roar while those of us who were interested in the 
 curious and unusual made mental notes of any new 
 combination of profanity. " That's just what yuh'd 
 expect!" he shouted. "Yuh that gahdam self- 
 satisfied in them islands that yuh don't know what's 
 goin' on in the world around yuh. " Why," he 
 bellowed, " Oklahoma wasn't in the Union then an' 
 we held up the whole one-eyed tin-pot United States 
 army, six hundred of us did. Yuh talk about makin' 
 history," he continued, in a calmer voice, " but nothin' 
 old Bill Taft ever done with the HI' brown brother 
 was a circumstance to what we put through that 
 time. 
 
 103
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " Well, the old man he owned a pretty considerable 
 lot of sections of land, and presently some o' them oil- 
 prospectin' ginks comes along and starts to make 
 holes and strikes a gusher. Gees ! the blue stuff went 
 up like a fountain, an' they didn't have no barrels 
 along to put it in nor pipes to take it away, but it was 
 real oil. I reckon you all, most of yuh, know about 
 oil. I've remarked that though you're pretty insular 
 an' reserved you're mighty spry to pop yuh heads 
 over the wall when anybody makes a noise like a 
 dividend. Well, this oil strike seemed to open up 
 roads that looked like leadin' to better an' brighter 
 things than them everlastin' sheep's tails, so as 
 quick's I could touch, I quit and lit right out for 
 Parrus an' took to paintin'. My sakes I yuh couldn't 
 ha' seen my coat-tails for dust, I skipped that fast. 
 I'd had all the loneliness I wanted for a bit : it was 
 me for the swing doors an' the electric light. Yet 
 it's a curious thing too, I've known men that jest 
 couldn't keep away from the Plains. Jest sorta got 
 into their blood, an' though they'd steer themselves 
 into the townships after a clean up an' try hittin' 
 the high spots, they'd always wander back. I tell 
 you, boys, yuh had to be dam tough to stand it at 
 all. Mostly American-born English an' Scotch. No 
 Irish, they go into politics an' the saloons, which 
 is the same thing ; an' Welsh I never saw. The 
 Dutchies comes along later on an' plants their 
 cabbages — they ain't built for pioneerin', they're too 
 dam soft ; an' so's the dagoes. The dago's like the 
 Jew : he wants the plate-glass fronts an' the arc- 
 lights. But I'm going right back there jest as soon 
 104
 
 The Plains 
 
 as you loonatics over here has quit killiu' each other. 
 We're beginuin' to wake up to the possibilities of the 
 West. We're new an' crude, I'll allow, an' we're apt 
 to be on the surface a bit, but it's us that's goin' 
 to give the world the genuine don't-fade national 
 personality it's huntin' around for. We're goin' to 
 stand pat on our own stuff in future. I don't mean 
 to be insultin', but in art — in paintin' I mean — you're 
 gettin' sterile over here. The new outlook is missin' : 
 no breadth o' vision. Anyone hangin' around here 
 or in Parrus is only pickin' up dead men's shoes. 
 Art ? Hell ! No : get away out in the open spaces, 
 where everything's healthy an' vital, and express 
 yourself. What paintin's short of to-day is what 
 politics is short of — honesty. 
 
 " I never knew a man do a mean or crooked thing 
 on the Plains. You might get yourself shot up, but 
 you could mostly trust your neighbour. There was 
 old Cal Murcheson, who was my old man's side-kicker 
 for years, an' never had no agreements nor no 
 writing, all the time. Straight as a gun barrel was 
 old Cal. Well, he struck it lucky over this oil too 
 an' clears out an' goes into politics, an' before he'd 
 been runnin' with that gang six months he'd got 
 that crooked he couldn't lie straight in bed. One 
 season after we'd cleaned up, Cal an' the old man 
 decides to make a dash for Santa F6, days away over 
 the New Mexican border, across what they called the 
 llano estacado, where at that time no white man had 
 ever set his foot, an' b'gosh we done it too. What 
 they was after I never knew; some prospectin' 
 stunt, I guess. My father wasn't given to confidin', 
 
 105
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 an' old Cal never chattered much, but the boys 
 was game an' off we starts. I guess we had some 
 mighty close calls, but we won through an' back. 
 
 "Maps? Compasses? What in blazes d'yuh want 
 them things for ? " Bill roared at an incautious ques- 
 tioner. That's your great British Army again ! Why, 
 you got no more notion o' doin' things easy than yuh'd 
 pick up beer with a pin. Great glory ! you laugh at the 
 German for bein' too full o' theory and book-learnin' 
 and yuh that cram full up with gear an' tackle that 
 yuh don' need, that yuh can't get on with the war for 
 chasin' around to see that yuh groom an' batman's 
 lookin' after it an' countin' it an' sortin' it out an' 
 checkin' it an' filin' yuh reports about the bits that's 
 missin'. No wonder the old show's draggin' ! We 
 knoo where Santa Fe laid, what in fortune more d'yuh 
 want? Yuh don't want to carry about maps for 
 that, an' as for compasses — gees, there's the Pole 
 Star, isn't there? What more d'yuh want? When 
 we camped down at night we laid a rifle down pointin' 
 to it, an' there we had our bearin's in the morning. 
 I mind it was the Ballard we used in them days ; it 
 come before the Winchester, an' a nice light, close- 
 shootin' gun it was. Not like what you make in 
 this country, weighin' fifty-six pounds an' built 
 to last a century. Water? Why, we'd only got 
 to turn a bronco loose an' follow him : he'd find 
 water all right, all right. The Plains are mighty 
 lonesome, but yuh can always see where yuh road 
 lies, an' while yuh horse kept clear o' them prairie- 
 dog holes you was all right so long's yuh didn't lose 
 yuh head and get scared. It was when yuh come to 
 1 06
 
 The Plains 
 
 the pear flats you'd to look out pretty spry ; many a 
 bright citizen's left his bones there. If )'uh oiicet 
 got right in I guess yuh'd find Hampton Court maze 
 'bout as easy. 
 
 " Well, we had a feller with us we called Doney. 
 'Stead o' sayin' he was raised in Aberdeen, he said 
 he was an Aberdonian, so it sorta stuck, and him an' 
 me bein' young we sorta travelled in double harness 
 together, an' shared the same buffalo robe at night, 
 for it comes down pretty cold out there, nights. So 
 Doney he gets a touch o' this loneliness. I seen it 
 comin' an' tried to shovel it past him, but it wasn't 
 no use, though I thought this Santa Fe trip would 
 have sorta livened him up a little. He jest goes on 
 gettin' worse and worse, an' one mornin' I wakens up 
 an' finds him cold an' stiff, lyin' beside me under the 
 buffalo robe. He'd passed in his plate for the last 
 time, an' nothin' wrong with him but this loneliness." 
 
 " Well, I liked Doney. I don't know a man I ever 
 liked better. I reckon I wasn't hankerin' much after 
 any breakfast that morning, so I straightens him out 
 as best I could an' covers him up with the buffalo 
 robe an' leaves the others gettin' on with breakfast 
 an' poor Doney lyin' there alongside them under the 
 buffalo robe. I tell you, boys, the Plains makes a 
 man cold an' callous ! We'd camped that night in an 
 arroyo bed so I wanders along it and finds a nice slope 
 with some bushes growin' facin' the south, so I fixes 
 on a spot an' marks it and gets back to the outfit. 
 They'd finished breakfast when I got back an' was 
 cleanin' up an cinchin' up the saddles, so I tells the 
 boys I've found a nice place to bury Doney in. 
 
 107
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Some laughs an' most takes no notice, an' it was old 
 Cal Murcheson that spoke to me. ' What's got yuh, 
 Sonny ? ' he sez. ' Why,' sez I, ' I've been huntin' for a 
 nice spot to bury Doney in,' and I was turning round 
 to point it out when he sez, ' Cut it out. Bill,' sez he ; 
 ' we'll just shove him in the sand here ; ifs easier 
 diggin' ! ' " 
 
 io8
 
 Au Ouartier 
 
 A thief is a thief, but a hedjicatcd thiefs a proper thief. 
 
 Fred Swindell. 
 
 YOU who know your London of course know 
 Delmege's theatre. When it was opened 
 some years ago there was quite a fuss in 
 artistic- London. There was also quite a fuss in 
 artistic Paris : but that comes later. Doubtless as 
 a man or woman of the world you have sat in the 
 theatre and admired the decorations. This is their 
 story. 
 
 In the nineties, when a budding artist arrived in 
 Paris, he went straight to the Latin Quarter, to give 
 the old place its full name. Whether this was from 
 a homing instinct or through an introduction or be- 
 cause the cocker who, although usually a consummate 
 scoundrel, had observed the character of the luggage 
 and driven the novitiate to the orthodox district, need 
 not matter — to the Quarter he inevitably went. Du 
 Maurier's picture of it was much more true to reality 
 than many captious critics would have had us think. 
 
 Supreme at that time, post-war Paris seems to 
 have lost its place as the hub of the universe of Art. 
 Oddly enough, it is London of all places, philistine 
 London, the prancing parade-ground of the time- 
 server, the political pimp and the war-wealthy that 
 has gathered to it most of those who really matter 
 in Art to-day. New York may still try to outbid 
 the world for operatic stars ; Buenos Aires still 
 remains the lodestar of the touring soubrette, but it 
 is in uncomfortable, haphazard London that for the 
 moment Art has settled. 
 
 109
 
 Oddly 
 
 Idly Enough! 
 
 In the Quarter there used to exist a hotel to 
 which, before he found his feet, every nouveaii was 
 certain to drift — the Haute Loire. It was not so 
 much that one went to the Haute Loire for cheap- 
 ness : all rooms were cheap then. It was simply 
 a well-recognised custom which probably owed its 
 inception to one whose identity we must respect, as 
 he is now probably fat and famous, but who, being 
 at that time 'twixt wind and water, endeavoured, in 
 return for free corn, to balance the deal by running 
 a magazine, and a very attractive sheet it was, in 
 which he gave the little inn "notices" that would 
 have charmed the management of even the Ritz. 
 There is no record of any nojiveau arriving in Paris 
 in the winter unless compelled to do so in order to 
 dodge an aliment summons or one or other of those 
 untoward happenings vicariously referred to in 
 insurance policies as "the Act of God," by which 
 man in his meanness throws on Jehovah the blame 
 for that which he himself should have foreseen. In 
 the summer months, to sleep in the little back room 
 at the Haute Loire, to breakfast off the wonderful 
 rolls and butter and cafe au lait, and spend the 
 long days sketching on the quays or in the Luxem- 
 bourg Gardens, with a dip into the sunny Salle 
 Caillebotte, was " paradise enow " for the youthful 
 enthusiast burning to find worlds to conquer. Even 
 now in their — let us hope — prosperity the survivors 
 must think with longing of those breakfasts and the 
 happy days. 
 
 " Say, ye red gowns ! that aften here 
 Hae toasted cakes to Katie's beer, 
 no
 
 Au Ouartier 
 
 Gin thir braw days hae had their peer, 
 
 Sae blithe ; sac daft ? 
 Yc'll ne'er again, in life's career, 
 
 Sit half sae saft."i 
 
 Modern painting, now settling down after its 
 cyclical spasm of revolt, was then steady yet alert 
 and receptive in the full bloom of impressionism. 
 The painter was yielding to the impulse of setting 
 down what he saw and felt and kissing farewell to 
 what he knew was there. After having been hoarded 
 for years, the masterpieces of Cezanne, utterly 
 despised when painted, were brought to light and 
 acclaimed as a fresh starting-ointp. The imitation 
 of the Old Masters, while for themselves revered 
 and accepted as phases, ceased to be the standard. 
 Research was the spirit of the time, and the 
 Academic tradition no longer inspired respect and 
 lingered only in the Old Salon, where, although the 
 quantity and the banality of the work was astound- 
 ing, nothing was so astounding as the size of the 
 larger pictures, ces gratides machines, of that day. 
 Indeed it was almost their only point of interest. 
 One recalls how Forain, who from the caustic char- 
 acter of his wit might be called the Whistler of 
 France, was one day strolling round the Old Salon 
 when he was pulled up by a bewildered bourgeois 
 friend, who, pointing to one of the very largest, 
 asked : " Mais, comment fait-on descendre de grafides 
 machines pareilles ? " received the reply, all the more 
 witty because of the subject, Rubens-like nudes, 
 
 ^ Robert Fergusson's Elegy on John Hogg, Porter to the University 
 of St Andrews. 
 
 Ill
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " ^a, il se degonjle, monsieur !'' This quip on reach- 
 ing that master stone-mason, Joe Jonathan, struck 
 him as being for a sculptor the discovery of the age. 
 " Here am I," quoth he, "spending my time chasing 
 fame and dollars from Chicago to Ceret, 'busting ' 
 the plutocracy en route, and leaving pyramids of 
 masonry wherever I light. Now if Forain's right 
 all I have to do is to make dinky little models of 
 these things in caoutchouc and rush around like a 
 human cyclone with a grip full of them and inflate 
 them wherever I pitch ! " 
 
 Americans, then generically christened " Chick-a- 
 goes" by the natives, seemed to predominate in the 
 nightly gatherings at the Hole in the Wall, not the 
 famous Hole of that ilk, but a more modest crhiierie 
 below the Haute Loire. Slavs and Britons a few — 
 of Frenchmen none, which perhaps was as well, as 
 they rarely understand the spirit of what is now 
 known as a rag, but was then always called a stunt 
 — a word at that time fairly worn out in the United 
 States, but which was duly copyrighted by smart 
 journalists in this country during the war. 
 
 There you would have met Mayor and Travers 
 and other wild men, for your student is ever in 
 rebellion against authority, and how Mayor did not 
 get into serious trouble for his part in the Quatz 
 Arts riots will always be a mystery. Everybody 
 was poor but happy and long faces were no part of 
 the make-up. Any of the uninitiated telling his 
 woes or expecting a sympathetic response to a hard- 
 luck story was listened to in dead silence, which in 
 itself became painfully embarrassing, and as soon 
 
 112
 
 Au Quartier 
 
 as he had finished the whole roomful chanted at the 
 top of their voices : 
 
 " Go — and — TELL — your troubles — to — Gabrielli, 
 We've — got — troubles — of — our — OWN I " 
 
 Mayor and Travers, Americans both, led the 
 stunts at the Hole, and chief of these was " going 
 mad." The room with its closely packed tables just 
 held the habitual frequenters. If a new arrival came 
 along he had to be made room for, so strangers 
 were not welcome. No ordinary Frenchman ever 
 remained a moment. If by accident he had looked 
 in, he recognised the types and bolted ; he knew the 
 risks ! A nouveau usually came under someone's 
 wing, but the solitary stranger who persisted in 
 seating himself was a target, and to everyone's joy 
 they occasionally did arrive. With amazing civility, 
 but always in the silence which was part of the 
 game, forks, knives, spoons, plates, all were passed 
 to him. His knife and fork were picked up and 
 polished. Polite young men from other tables 
 carried salt-cellars, cruets, bread, anything movable, 
 all of which they solemnly offered to the bewildered 
 visitor with graceful bows. Looking inquiringly 
 round the room, as the new-comer's eye encountered 
 one after another of the other diners, they rose and 
 bowed gravely to him, until by the time he had got 
 into his first course he was in a dazed condition and 
 "readied "to a nicety for what was to follow. As 
 soon as all was in order, Travers would " go mad " 
 and pandemonium reigned. Travers had what used 
 to be called football hair and had been a leading light 
 
 H 113
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 at Princetown in the dog-fighting that Americans 
 are pleased to call football. He would shake his 
 head till his shock of long hair flew about like a 
 twirling mop. Everyone then jumped to his feet, 
 cursed Travers, threw everything about, knocked 
 over tables and chairs, started mock fights, yelled 
 and generally behaved like fiends. The hapless 
 stranger usually bolted his food and, waiting for no 
 more, paid and fled into the night. On two occasions 
 only did the intended victims stick it out, and the 
 second of these is our first link with Delmege's 
 theatre. 
 
 One night a cab stopped outside — a most unusual 
 occurrence. Ifitwere, as some surmised, the smart 
 set trying to discover and popularise a new haunt, 
 the possibilities were immense. But only a hungry 
 cocker entered. He squeezed into a seat with diffi- 
 culty, for your old-timer never came out of his clothes, 
 he merely, if he could, added more as the winter drew 
 on and shed them gradually as the weather grew 
 mild, sleeping frequently in his own cab. As it was 
 cold weather, the bulk of him was considerable. He 
 seemed, oddly enough, for the Parisian cocker was 
 usually of swinish taciturnity, to be a merry soul, and 
 calling loudly for la patronne, with much gesticula- 
 tion he tucked the napkin round his neck and 
 sharpened his knife vigorously on the marble-topped 
 table, then, his soup arriving, he grabbed his spoon 
 and went headlong into it like a dolphin in high 
 spirits. The overture of passing things was cut out. 
 Cocker would have probably thrown them at the 
 profferer, so without delay the signal was given and 
 
 114
 
 Au Guar tier 
 
 Travers was "off." At first, although the noise 
 mercifully defeated the sounds of his performance 
 with the soup, cocJier took no notice. His must have 
 been an adventurous life! Then he paused for a 
 moment and cocked his head to one side, obviously 
 interested and even, it seemed, pleased, but like the 
 Scotsman who once had had his drink knocked over 
 he was taking no chances, and returned to his light- 
 ning attack on the soup. That finished — and even 
 in his haste he did not omit the ceremony of sweep- 
 ing a piece of bread round the bottom of his plate, 
 but in his practised fingers the loss of time was 
 fractional — passing his hand across his mouth he 
 was in the fray. Heaving himself to his feet, he sent 
 his plate flying against the opposite wall, where it 
 went into smithereens, then grabbing his chair he 
 banged it on the table, roaring and yelling with the 
 best. The stunt was over and the performers were 
 beaten at their own game, so cocker became their 
 guest. 
 
 The next winner was the antithesis of the old 
 cocker. He was young, blonde, curly haired, tall, 
 slender, and looked as if he might wear corsets. His 
 clothes were super-exquisite. High collars were 
 then the vogue — his nearly lifted his ears. Tight 
 trousers were fashionable in those days — he looked 
 as if he must have been poured into his or got in and 
 out of them with a shoe-horn. His monocle had no 
 string — he was the last word. When he entered 
 (and long afterwards it was often debated how 
 exactly he had come to be there), and the Hole went 
 mad, he nearly fainted, and doubtless too scared to 
 
 115
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 move, he sat it out. When they had exhausted 
 themselves he begged to be allowed to buy drinks 
 for them : and was. Despite his apparent greenness, 
 he somehow managed to intrigue the habitues, who 
 had as a rule no interest in such persons. Probably 
 his transcendent ingenuousness and his childish 
 delight in their wildest lies, of which they filled him 
 up with many, may have intrigued them. He was 
 tremendously interested in Art, he said, so they con- 
 ducted him to the Salon, and his wonderment was 
 quite pathetic. He loved Paris, he told them, so, 
 although they as a rule left the rive droite to itself 
 and the tourists, they took him across to Montmartre 
 and showed him the popular sights ; at his expense, 
 of course — an arrangement which he politely insisted 
 on — and then they took him round the Quarter. It 
 was curious how the very callowness of him seemed 
 to interest such a cynical crew, and they in their 
 turn, especially the Americans, were frankly amazed 
 at his intimacy with notable people. He referred to 
 Lord Leighton as Freddie and showed a letter from 
 him calling him Marmaduke or some such appropriate 
 name. He knew Wilde and every celebrity of the 
 day in England, literary, artistic and social, but 
 especially artistic. He bitterly regretted that he 
 was not an artist. His life's ambition had been to 
 become one, but he had not the talent, and it was 
 doubly unfortunate, he explained, because he knew 
 so many people interested in painting — all the big 
 dealers, whose names he rattled off with convincing 
 fluency, and all sorts of people intimately or remotely 
 connected with Art. Indeed just before he left 
 ii6
 
 Au Quartier 
 
 London his great friend Delmege — they no doubt 
 had all heard of Delmcge, the famous actor-manager 
 — had asked him if he could suggest someone to 
 do the decorations for his new theatre, then nearing 
 completion. People like that were constantly com- 
 ing to him, he added, expressing a mild curiosity as 
 to whom Delmege might ultimately select. Then 
 it was that Mayor, who is a Jew, hitched his chair 
 closer and dropping his role of Mad Hatter spoke 
 earnestly and in a manner prophetic of what he is 
 to-day — the most successful business artist in the 
 world. In a few rapid sentences he explained to 
 Delmege's friend that the hand of a benign Provi- 
 dence was as clear in all this as the Sacr^ Cceur on a 
 summer night. His star had certainly been shining 
 on that day when first he met Mayor and his friends, 
 for they and they alone were the fit and proper 
 artists to tackle just such a job. At first Marmaduke, 
 although positively transported at the bare idea of 
 doing anything to help the dear chappies who had 
 been so devilish good to him, don't y'know, could 
 not quite see his way. How could he manage it ? 
 It was not really in his line at all and he might 
 make some sort of a mess of it, but Mayor brushed 
 it all aside. All that Marmaduke had to do, he 
 pointed out to him, was to write to Delmege, get 
 the details and Delmege's commission in writing and 
 nothing more. They would do the work. All that 
 he then further had to do was to amuse himself 
 until the time fell for reaping the golden harvest. 
 So write he did, and the commission duly materialised. 
 Already Mayor and his friends saw themselves roll- 
 
 117
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 incT in affluence. Visions floated before them of 
 money, real money to spend, and all was bright and 
 fair but for one little difficulty — the presence of the 
 rock on which so many promising schemes have been 
 wrecked : finance. Not that they wanted cash in ad- 
 vance or anything so sordidly commercial, but — they 
 had neither money nor credit. Stacks of material 
 would be required. Money was not strictly necessary, 
 but credit — could he see his way? Certainly he 
 could, and that right gladly, so with no more real 
 trouble than swallowing a drink, credit was opened 
 chez pere Brosse in the Boulevard Montparnasse on 
 the strength of Marmaduke's guarantee, reinforced as 
 it was by Delmege's commission and his sheaves of 
 letters from such prominent people. So the great 
 undertaking was got under way. 
 
 They all took a hand, Mayor as painter-in-chief 
 and the others mainly as draughtsmen. As the 
 news of this wonderful commission spread round the 
 Quarter, any temporarily "resting" artist cheerfully 
 took a share in the work, and the various studios, 
 where the sections were taking shape, hummed with 
 activity. Help and advice were freely given, and 
 round it all, like a "scrum half" waiting for the ball 
 to come out, hovered the good fairy who had brought 
 it all about, twittering his encouragement and im- 
 partially carrying off" for lunch or dinner Mayor or 
 any of his volunteer assistants who happened for the 
 moment to have paused in their task. Mayor set an 
 example like a non-union beaver working overtime. 
 Spreading themselves in the Louvre, they freely 
 copied Watteau and Nattier, Fragonard and Boucher, 
 ii8
 
 Au Ouarticr 
 
 and all such artists whose- style seemed to their 
 delighted eyes to have been specially evolved to 
 assist the struggling theatre decorator. Never in 
 the memory of the Quarter had such a commission 
 been undertaken. It would make history and their 
 names would become famous among the nations. 
 
 At first viadame la patronne at the Hole was upset, 
 not to say alarmed, over the hurried meals and 
 seriousness of her clients. No longer did they spend 
 merry nights there as of old. But she nodded her 
 head knowingly when the great news was whispered 
 to her. Like all her class, she was a born business 
 woman, and much of the harvest would come her 
 way. 
 
 Like maniacs they laboured for months and 
 months and months, even those offsprings of Satan, 
 the concierges, sat up and began to take a friendly 
 interest and discuss the probabilities amongst them- 
 selves over their dominoes at their (avounie cs^amz'ne^ 
 near by. 
 
 Then the first bomb fell. The good fairy one 
 morning received a letter from his friend Delmege 
 in which he asked that all the paintings be sent over 
 at once, as the date for the ceremonial opening of 
 the theatre was fixed. Hoping to catch him before 
 he left, he rushed round to Mayor's studio and found 
 that he had already gone to the Salon. It was 
 vernissage day and a great day for Mayor, who had 
 had a picture accepted, and who, clasping by the 
 middle an umbrella that would not roll up, had gone 
 in state to attend the reception in a borrowed frock- 
 coat irksomely small for him, and a silk hat that 
 
 119
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 only kept its place with the assistance of two copies 
 of La Patrie stuffed round the lining. Frantic, 
 without waiting for di fiacre, Marmaduke ran all the 
 way to the Salon to break the news to Mayor. 
 There he was at first refused admission, but he was 
 desperate, and as attendants are not infrequently 
 venal mortals, he finally got inside and after a hectic 
 hunt he ran Mayor to earth. On hearing the news 
 Mayor became nearly as hysterical as Marmaduke, 
 and the pair set off to run back to the studio. Mayor 
 in his shirt-sleeves, with the ridiculous frock-coat 
 over his arm, but still grasping the umbrella, with 
 which he gesticulated as they ran. The thought 
 that they might after all miss it was maddening. 
 Every available pair of hands was pressed in to help, 
 while Marmaduke endeavoured to temporise by 
 telegram and letter. The entire Quarter shared the 
 excitement of the race against time. 
 
 Finally one day a peremptory telegram arrived. 
 The whole of the pictures had to be in London the 
 following morning. It was an ultimatum. At half- 
 past four Marmaduke literally flew up the stairs to 
 Mayor's studio, where the last of the paintings were 
 being finished, waved the telegram and incoherently 
 announced that the boat train left at six o'clock. 
 Finished at last the pictures were, but alas ! not yet 
 all dry. Consternation reigned and Marmaduke 
 nearly wept. It was Mayor who saved the situation. 
 Clutching a friend to help him, they dashed off, and, 
 thanks to his intimate knowledge of the Quarter, 
 returned almost immediately with huge rolls of 
 waxed paper. Triumphantly they spread it over the 
 
 120
 
 Au Ouartier 
 
 wet paint and the half-dry parts. Willing hands 
 were meantime wrapping up the dry canvases on the 
 long rollers already prepared, while Marmaduke 
 darted away to collect his baggage and tvjo fiacres. 
 In a twinkling the crowd got all stowed and good- 
 byes were being shouted, with cries of " Bon voyage ! " 
 and " You'll do it all right ! " when Marmaduke 
 suddenly discovered that he had nothing less than 
 a one-hundred-franc note — could anyone oblige ? 
 Most willingly did the silver, large and small, rain 
 upon him with the enthusiasm born of confidence 
 in the knowledge that bread cast upon the waters 
 at the right moment cometh back manyfold. Even 
 the concierge contributed ! 
 
 Shouting to Mayor to keep a note of the individual 
 loans for him and with a final wave of his hand from 
 amongst the rolls, as his fiacres and their precious 
 freight rattled over the cobbles round the corner 
 into the Boulevard Montparnasse, Marmaduke 
 disappeared. 
 
 He was never heard of again. 
 
 When I was last in the theatre it seemed to me 
 that, for their age, the decorations looked wonderful. 
 
 121
 
 Ce Pauv' P'tit Joseph 
 
 Stay me with apples : comfort me with flagons, for I am sick 
 
 of love. 
 
 Song of Solomon. 
 
 IT is all very well to gibe at rearing a boy under 
 the "Sheltered Life" system. But when two 
 elderly maiden ladies suddenly find themselves 
 left in charge of an orphaned nephew, and no men- 
 folk to guide them, they cannot be blamed if, in 
 their anxiety to protect their charge, they overdo it. 
 So it fell that Ronald Kaye lived with his aunts 
 until his eighteenth year, carefully dealt with by a 
 series of tutors of blameless life and irreproachable 
 character. As his father had been at Cambridge it 
 was decided for him that he must go also, and you 
 see him there on the night of his arrival, after having 
 been patronised by the head porter, sitting sadly 
 disconsolate in rooms which had been taken for 
 him : by whom he never exactly discovered. This 
 was after an interview with his tutor, whose almost 
 first words were, " Of course you will take honours," 
 which left Ronald wondering what precisely the 
 good gentleman wanted him to do, and if he were 
 expected to take them on the spot. Had the boy 
 had a normal upbringing he would have doubtless 
 turned out an average healthy youth, very little 
 different from thousands of others. As it was, the 
 care and constant companionship of his aunts had 
 left him at nineteen untainted by contact with a 
 sordid world, as innocent as a stuffed doll. Tall, 
 slight, fair-haired, pleasant-looking and almost always 
 silent, he mooned through his first months at Cam- 
 bridge, mildly revelling in the freedom of his new 
 
 122
 
 Ce Pauv" P'^tit Joseph 
 
 life, yet somewhat amazed, so unusual and unex- 
 pected did everything seem. He managed to commit 
 all the usual fresher's faults, making his first visit 
 to his tutor without a gown, and had the simple- 
 minded temerity to call on a fourth-year man living 
 above him to borrow one. liut the subject that 
 exercised his mind to the exclusion of almost 
 everything else, including his work, was that of 
 women. Hitherto he had accepted women as 
 comprising his aunts and the maids, lady visitors 
 and their daughters, generally as shy as himself. 
 Nor had he gleaned anything from books. His 
 reading had been carefully selected for him. East 
 Lynne had been given him to read as if it had 
 been a tract, with the solemn statement that it 
 was one of the world's good books, but as he got 
 no explanation with it, he merely thought it rather 
 boring. So, being suddenly brought up against the 
 great sex problem at an age when many modern 
 youths could give their elders points in worldly 
 knowledge, it intrigued him vastly. But this was 
 merely mental and arose from hearing others talk. 
 His physical ego felt none of the stirrings in which 
 our literary pornographic Windy Murphys delight 
 to wallow about. He could hardly avoid it. When 
 his fellows were not discussing sports it was their 
 invariable topic. Too reserved to seek enlightenment, 
 he could only listen and wonder. He heard the 
 classic story of the fellow who was sent down the 
 previous year, who had won a sweepstake for what 
 seemed to Ronald to be a prodigious sum, intended 
 to enable the winner to make a dash for London 
 
 123
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 and worship at the shrine of a musical comedy star 
 duly named, and had used the money to clear off 
 a stack of unpaid bills. He only vaguely grasped 
 it all, and his wonderment grew. 
 
 When he was home for his first summer vacation the 
 war broke out. Having drifted into the Cambridge 
 Artillery O.T.C., merely because his tutor told him 
 he should join, he returned there to be mobilised. 
 He found life in the training camp very good, and 
 as the times were too serious for anyone to frown 
 on keenness as bad form, he threw himself into his 
 training with some zest and allowed the sex problem 
 to go untended. Sometimes singly, sometimes in 
 bunches, the others went out, and in the first summer 
 of the war Ronald found himself at a rest camp 
 at Havre. Casualties being heavy, he was without 
 delay sent up the line to be attached to a unit, 
 making the last stage of his journey in a two-horsed 
 supply wagon in company with an uncommunicative 
 bombardier. He found the Captain in a bashed 
 farm and duly reported. On being asked and in- 
 forming him where he had been training, that person 
 remarked encouragingly: "Cambridge? H'm, I 
 haven't had the advantages of a university education 
 myself, but I hope you'll turn out better than the 
 last blighter we had from there, a socialistic covey, 
 by way of; sort of anarchist in poor health — Trent, 
 did you know him?" Yes, Ronald remembered 
 Trent, a longish-haired fellow who wrote poetry and 
 had been one of the first to go out. Not that he 
 had cared for him very much, but he was a little 
 tired of knocking about the country unnoticed, and 
 124
 
 Ce Pauv* P'^tit Joseph 
 
 felt that he would be glad to see anyone he had 
 known, however slightly, and said so. "Well, you'll 
 have some way to go," said his Captain; "he was 
 planted two days ago." This was his first experience 
 of the shock of learning of the death of anyone he 
 knew, and that, with the Captain's rather casual, not 
 to say brutal, way of putting it, made the poor youth 
 feel quite squeamish. He felt that he would not 
 like this man, who was really not a bad sort, but 
 who imagined that an affectation of callousness 
 he did not really feel was a good example for 
 youngsters. Their acquaintanceship, however, was 
 short, for the gallant Captain promptly took advan- 
 tage of the new arrival to lie long abed next morning, 
 and word having come to Ronald at early stables 
 to report at the battery at once, he went off im- 
 mediately in dire discomfort in a crowded springless 
 cook's cart, and arrived at dusk amongst the guns 
 in a small ravine. Enemy firing continued inter- 
 mittently throughout the night, but, oddly enough, 
 although it was his first experience, he slept well 
 and even felt a thrill of keenness rather than the 
 nervousness he had feared. After looking round 
 their guns the following morning, his Major informed 
 him that together they would go to their observation 
 post, and that he would be shown the country. 
 That over, they returned, the enemy batteries having 
 been silent since dawn. In his gun-pit he sat after 
 lunch, and having nothing else to do he tried to 
 analyse his feelings. At that comparatively early 
 stage of the war the soul-searchings of the soldier 
 had not yet begun to appear in print, so he had 
 
 125
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 little to guide him as to the proper lines on which 
 he ought to conduct his reflections. He found he 
 was merely consumed with curiosity as to what it 
 would be like when the enemy again started putting 
 it over in earnest in daylight. He had not long 
 to wait. Far away to the east he heard a grunt 
 which took his mind back to a menagerie at a 
 country fair at home. He remembered a mangy 
 lion making just such a noise. Then a whistling 
 sound rising to a scream, then wump ! a shell 
 burst some thirty yards away in the clear ground 
 to his right. Excitedly springing out of his gunpit, 
 not hearing his Major's warning yell, he reached 
 the level just in time to take a splinter in his leg. 
 Back into the pit he rolled, then supporting himself 
 on his arms he sat up and gazed at his leg. The 
 foot hung over at an odd angle. Instinctively he 
 realised that the bones were broken and turned on 
 that side. " That should bring it straight," he re- 
 marked aloud. Then as he moved and the shattered 
 bones grated, for the first time he felt pain : he felt 
 sick : his head swam and he fell heavily back. 
 
 Passing through a casualty clearing station, then 
 a hospital at Etaples, he found himself in a private 
 nursing home in London. No complications ensuing, 
 and these being the days of sick leave at home, he 
 finally settled down to a long and dreary con- 
 valescence under his aunts' fussy care, while the 
 aged local practitioner periodically removed splinters. 
 Being a dreamy youth, just as he could never have 
 explained how he came to find himself in his rooms 
 at Cambridge, so he could never have told precisely 
 126
 
 Ce Pauv' P'tit Joseph 
 
 how he came to find himself installed in a Government 
 Department in London, still in uniform and drawing 
 a special rate of pay. If you had asked him, he 
 probably would have told you that he rather thought 
 it was through running into his former Major when 
 at an irritating, though doubtless necessary, medical 
 board. He worked for a month or two like a galley- 
 slave under the spur of resentment at not having 
 been allowed to go back to his battery after having 
 done so little, for he was a conscientious youth. 
 Then gradually he drifted into Departmental ways, 
 realising that no matter what he did someone else 
 took the credit, no matter how quickly it was done, 
 his effort was braked at the next stage. So he 
 lapsed and extended his lunch hour. He took to 
 mooning in Bond Street and Regent Street during 
 his spare time and it was a strange London that he 
 saw. It seemed to him that the kharki-covered 
 youths concentrated their brain-power on a com- 
 petition as to the length of cigarette-holders and 
 the cultivation of a stage guardee's accent — an 
 operation attended with astonishing results when 
 the cultivator was provincial or from the north, 
 and the other sex on a competition as to who would 
 wear the shortest skirt without actually running 
 the risk of being arrested, and the consequent dis- 
 closures indicated that the silkworms were working 
 overtime. Then his old interest in the sex problem 
 revived. 
 
 About this time a flatulent prelate discovered that 
 London's morals were in an appalling condition ; 
 that sex promiscuity was rampant and that the 
 
 127
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 people were actually dancing and attending theatres. 
 The good man, having donned the mantle of Jeremiah 
 and moaned in public over the state of affairs, 
 London, to do it bare justice, did its best to provide 
 him with food for further sermons. 
 
 Every popular periodical and magazine that 
 Ronald saw seemed to be steeped in suggestiveness 
 from cover to cover. Readers were urged to place 
 their orders for future copies, as sensational stories 
 of love and crime were promised by specialists in 
 the twin attractions. In these publications the 
 advertisements seemed to be under the direction of 
 experts in salacity, calling attention to their wares 
 by drawings of half-clad females. Nor did the 
 hoardings and cinema houses lag behind. Nearly all 
 the successful plays centred round a bedroom scene. 
 Ronald wondered if these purveyors carried their 
 bright ideas into practice, or tried to. He had recently 
 heard of one of them, a rabbit-faced, grubby little man 
 who had somehow managed to get himself invited to 
 a rather exclusive country house. From the morning 
 of the day on which he arrived he had pestered an 
 extremely pretty girl with his attentions and finally 
 announced his intention of visiting her room that 
 night. Never believing that he would dare, she did 
 not even trouble to lock her door. The satyric 
 creature, however, did present himself, and when the 
 girl switched on the light, the spectacle that the 
 budding Don Juan presented in pyjamas was so 
 ludicrous, that instead of ringing a bell or screaming 
 the house down, she went into shrieks of laughter 
 and the intruder fled. Learning that she had told 
 128
 
 Ce Pauv" P'*tit Joseph 
 
 the story next morning at breakfast, the fascinating 
 gentleman left. Then, Ronald reflected, did these 
 people write about such things knowing them to be 
 true or merely because they liked to dabble in situa- 
 tions that never occurred, least of all to them, or 
 was it merely because such stuff sold well ? 
 
 He began to hear alarming tales of the behaviour 
 of the myriads of girls in Government employment. 
 Had such things always been and he had only just 
 wakened up to a consciousness of them, or were they 
 untrue? Yet, although he was married, there seemed 
 to be no doubt about the relations between the 
 cabaret colonel at the head of the Department and 
 the driver of his car. The fellow openly boasted of 
 the situation, and Ronald, contemplating the lady, 
 as his curiosity often prompted him to do, wondered 
 more than ever, for she was fat, bold and exceedingly 
 unlovely. 
 
 With some acquaintances at a man's rooms one 
 night he heard the whole matter thrashed out, he 
 as usual sitting in silent wonderment through it all, 
 fascinated, yet half fearing to remain lest he were 
 asked to contribute his opinions and having none. 
 With one exception, according to them, all things 
 were so, and they advanced personal experiences 
 in proof, but Ronald felt intuitively that they were 
 mildly lying : due probably to the whisky and a 
 youthful spirit of emulation. The exception flatly 
 contradicted them and roundly denounced the whole 
 idea. " It's merely the prevailing hysterical form 
 of our national vice of hypocrisy," he said. " This 
 parson-wallah gets up on his hind legs and says 
 
 I 129
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 that it is so, and puts the idea into people's heads. 
 Then the Press and the stage play up to it, and a 
 lot of damned silly women dress for the part, fake 
 their faces, and generally get themselves up to look 
 as like prostitutes as possible, and run about cadging 
 lunches and dinners, and seats at the theatre. That's 
 all they are interested in : bar clothes. Watch a 
 woman walking alone, meet another woman with 
 a man. If the other woman is as plain as a gable- 
 end and the man as beautiful as a god, which does 
 the first woman look at ? Nine times out of ten 
 it's at the other woman. She stares at her hat and 
 her clothes, and if she looks smart she sneers and 
 passes on. If she thinks of the man at all, it's to 
 hate the other woman for being in possession of 
 a potential provider. Why, the average woman 
 simply does not know a well-built man when she 
 sees one. So long as he looks correctly dressed and 
 has got money to spend, one's as good as another to 
 them. Of course there are others, thank heaven, 
 but I am generalising about the average sort you 
 run across in London to-day, and my candid opinion 
 is that for the most part they are a pack of sexless 
 harpies. Personally it doesn't really interest me, but 
 all this yelping and writing about it, and drawing 
 it, and setting it to music is extremely boring." 
 
 Ronald felt he must ask advice, and confided in 
 a fellow-labourer in the Departmental vineyard, but 
 he only added mortification to his perplexity, for 
 this person, being an ordinary sort of cad, presently 
 spread the story and chaffed him as "Twenty-one- 
 and-never-been-kissed " till he imagined that even 
 130
 
 Ce Pauv P'tit Joseph 
 
 the girl clerks knew ; which they probably did. 
 Among these girls was one whose demure " Good- 
 morning" had always given Ronald a feeling of 
 friendliness. Passing one day through the room 
 where she worked, he found her seated on the 
 window-sill speaking at the telephone, with one 
 foot on the ground and the other cocked on the 
 seat of her chair. The sight of the brown, silk-clad^ 
 shapely leg gave Ronald a shock. Without letting 
 him see that she well knew that he had noticed, the 
 brat calmly lifted her foot and placed it on the back 
 of the chair, and continued her conversation. The 
 revelation nearly deprived Ronald of his breath 
 and he retreated into his room. Her telephoning 
 over, the girl followed him in to look for an alleged 
 lost pencil. " I say," said Ronald, greatly daring, 
 " I'd like to meet you outside some time." " Rather," 
 said Brown Stockings. " I'd love it. Let's have dinner 
 somewhere and do a show after." " No," said Ronald, 
 *' I'm not keen on theatres. Let's go to my rooms 
 after." " Good lord," said the girl, " what a dull 
 evening! I mean," she added, noticing the con- 
 sternation on his face, " what a waste of tim^e when 
 there are so many good shows running. Why should 
 we go to your rooms ? " Ronald stood silent, not 
 so much for the want of something to say, as the 
 inability to know how to say it. Slowly the girl's 
 mouth settled into a straight line, " I see : you're 
 that sort, are you? Nothing doing, thank you," 
 she said, and lifting her chin she stalked out of 
 the room, quite forgetting the apocryphal pencil. 
 " That sort ! " Poor bewildered Ronald ! 
 
 131
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 It was just at this time, when he was deciding 
 that this was another of these things he could not 
 fathom, and had decided to give it all up, that he 
 was suddenly stopped one day by Mrs Clemholt at 
 the corner of Conduit Street as he was wandering 
 in Bond Street. She had spotted him as one who 
 might be useful as an understudy, when the more 
 important entries in her engagement book scratched, 
 as they sometimes did, despite her skill. Having 
 recovered from his embarrassment, he vaguely re- 
 called having met her, or at least having seen her in 
 the early days of the war at their training camp 
 where her husband then was. He gathered that the 
 said husband had been killed almost immediately 
 after going out, and it seemed even to his unsophisti- 
 cated eyes that she was wearing her widowhood 
 remarkably well. So far as he could observe, she had 
 quite discarded black, with the exception of her shoes 
 and stockings, and there was a generous display of 
 the latter. Now the war, or to be more accurate, his 
 training, had stiffened Ronald into quite a personable 
 youth, and as the lady had not managed to make a 
 luncheon engagement for that day, he soon found 
 himself skilfully steered into the corner of a smart 
 Piccadilly grill-room, where Mrs Clemholt and the 
 waiter arranged what the food and wine were to be. 
 She had thought of the big room but discarded it in 
 favour of the grill. The absence of music was better 
 for a confidential talk. While all officer boys had 
 gratuities or some such thing to spend, she had to 
 find out how the land lay. Those callow youths had 
 a distressing habit of finding themselves short of 
 132
 
 Ce Pauv' P'tit Joseph 
 
 ready cash, and managers were becoming shy about 
 kharki cheques. Although not more than five and 
 twenty, Mrs Clemholt was up to every move on the 
 board and could have given points to most of her 
 sex. Dark and plump, with really beautiful eyes 
 and well-balanced features, she had a most engaging 
 trick of leaning forward as if fascinated with her 
 escort's conversation, while all the time she was 
 mentally sketching some woman's hat across the 
 room. By nature grasping and fond of luxury, she 
 found her penurious widowhood a sore trial, and, 
 faced with work or a second marriage, she decided 
 to risk investing her slender capital in trying to 
 bring off a matrimonial coup. Being as conscience- 
 less a siren as ever tripped down Bond Street, she 
 angled for lunches, dinners and theatre seats with 
 charming assiduity, resolved to take all and give 
 nothing, knowing with the mature wisdom of her 
 kind that that way lay the surest road to St Paul's, 
 Knightsbridge. Were her resources to fail before 
 she had got a fish on the gaff, and she were forced to 
 reconsider the position, for work she would not, she 
 would drive a hard bargain and probably break it 
 when she got the spoil. Meantime here was what 
 looked like a useful extra, and as the fascinated 
 Ronald soon gave her all the information she re- 
 quired, he was promptly appointed occasional 
 provider. She regarded him a little anxiously as 
 she daintily drew on her gloves while the waiter 
 presented the exorbitant bill, but her apprehensions 
 were needless. He was strangely indifferent where 
 money was concerned. Having formed no tastes of 
 
 133
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 any sort, when he had money he merely spent it as 
 a demand presented itself; if he had none, he went 
 without ; so he took his medicine without flinching, 
 and further gratified the lady by disbursing a 
 lavish tip. 
 
 Relieved and delighted, having preened and patted 
 herself, she bent across to him and possibly moved 
 by a genuine if rare impulse, said : " You are a dear 
 boy : you have given me a most heavenly lunch : we 
 must see a lot of each other : give me the telephone 
 number of this wonderful Department of yours." 
 
 Ronald's heart beat faster. He had heard a lot 
 
 of chatter about war widows, could she really 
 
 He blushed hotl)' at his thoughts and stammered 
 out the telephone number. Nothing escaped Mrs 
 Clemholt, and her eyes hardened. She found amorous 
 youths tiresome. " Strictly business " was her motto. 
 He would require to be checked if that developed, 
 she reflected as she scribbled down the number. 
 So Ronald found himself in the rdle of filling up the 
 widow's cruse when she saw it running down. But 
 even unsophisticated, although still fascinated, youth 
 tires of hunting for the best tables at overcrowded 
 restaurants, chivvying taxi-cabs and searching for 
 theatre seats, for as stop-gap he usually found him- 
 self called in — though ever so sweetly — at the last 
 moment. That he could have explained his feelings 
 towards the lady is doubtful, but he never tried. He 
 had so far quietly accepted the situation in his moon- 
 ing way, grateful to her for at least helping him to 
 remove the justification for his Departmental nick- 
 name. By nature sensitive, and afflicted with the 
 
 134
 
 Ce Pauv P'tit Joseph 
 
 youthful habit of a tendency to exaggerate such 
 things, he had felt a thrill of pride the first time one 
 of his colleagues saw them together. But he began 
 to wonder if he were always to fetch and carry. 
 Here he was, he said to himself, on the verge of an 
 affair, yet — what to do ? Lacking both impulse and 
 experience, he was puzzled. The climax came as 
 climaxes do, all unexpectedly. He was, as nearly 
 always, called in rather late one evening to take a 
 very disappointed and irritated Mrs Clemholt out to 
 dinner. She had spent hours adorning herself for a 
 most eligible partly who had callously deserted her 
 at the last minute. Having tried the more fashion- 
 able haunts in vain, they were forced to take refuge 
 in a noisy, blatant caravanserai choked with kharki 
 and scantily clad flappers and to share a table with 
 other two people. Mrs Clemholt's temper had nearly 
 gone and for once in a way her usual charm was 
 lacking. Ronald, himself a little on edge, drank just 
 slightly more than customary, for he was a temperate 
 youth. Having no " show " to go on to, Mrs Clemholt 
 announced her intention of returning to her flat, 
 inviting Ronald to come up and smoke, "for a little," 
 she added dryly, noticing the recurrence of an 
 expression she had observed before, and Ronald 
 quested for a conveyance, an art in which much 
 practice was making him quite proficient. As their 
 taxi swung round a corner it threw Mrs Clemholt 
 close against him, and doubtless inspired by the 
 extra glass or two of wine, Ronald made his first 
 attempt to kiss her. As a performance it was 
 lamentable. Having scratched the back of her neck 
 
 135
 
 Oddly Enough/ 
 
 with the buckle of his vvri.st watch and hopelessly 
 disarranged her elaborate coiffure, over which so 
 much time had been wasted, he succeeded in nearly 
 swallowing a large paste earring. Dismayed, he sat 
 back, and next instant received a slap across his cheek 
 which made him think that something had burst 
 inside his head. He gasped, and for a moment felt 
 paralysed, then in a conflict of emotions in which 
 sheer terror predominated, he leaned out of the 
 window and shouted to the driver to stop. Leaping 
 out and slamming the door after him, he thrust some 
 loose silver at the man, then mechanically putting 
 a finger to his cap — for he was in uniform — he strode 
 away. This would not do, thought Mrs Clemholt, 
 she had been too hasty, and the market showed signs 
 of falling : she must retrieve him, so, popping her 
 head out, she called, " Ronald ! " then " Ronnie ! " 
 but in vain, for Ronald-Ronnie was hurrying along 
 Piccadilly. *' Damn them ! Damn them all ! " he 
 almost shouted, as he bumped into and nearly 
 knocked over an Assistant Provost Marshal. 
 " Marchant was right : they're just a pack of 
 harpies!" Recovering himself, the A. P.M. con- 
 sidered him. It certainly looked like drink, but he 
 was hurrying to keep an appointment, so he decided 
 to let it go as some new symptom of shell shock. 
 Amidst the excitement the lady had not failed to 
 notice that the driver had been paid, and, being near 
 her flat, she decided that she would walk the rest of 
 the way, so with perfect dignity and a charming 
 " Good-night " to the somewhat bewildered driver, 
 she left the taxi. 
 
 136
 
 Ce Pauv" P'^tit Joseph 
 
 Scarcely knowing where he went, Ronald found 
 that he had crossed the Circus and was almost 
 running along Shaftesbury Avenue. In a wave of 
 self-consciousness he pulled up. Finding himself 
 outside a large doorway presided over by a huge, fat 
 man in uniform and white cotton gloves, he passed 
 through, receiving an obsequious salute, and pulled 
 up at the end of a long bar, empty save for a lanky, 
 chinless youth in kharki to whom three Yids, all 
 sporting discharged soldiers' badges, were attending. 
 He stood in a turmoil of rage and humiliation, 
 unconsciously holding a hand against his smarting 
 face, A sharp voice made him look up : the dame 
 behind the bar was inquiring. Unversed in the 
 ordering of drinks in such places, he recalled the 
 dictum of Marchant the wise, that " a pint of bubbly 
 was the only pick-me-up," and ordered a half-bottle 
 of champagne. Doubtfully the barmaid regarded 
 him, till noticing the well-filled wallet he produced, 
 she fetched the liquor. But the wallet had not 
 passed unnoticed in another quarter, and detaching 
 himself from the others, one of the silver-badged trio 
 advanced on him. " 'UUo, old sportiboy," he began, 
 " 'aven't seen yer since I was discharged." But 
 Ronald, although callow, had some understanding, 
 besides, he was in a dangerous mood : the mood that 
 is apt to send the tamest of men ofif at a tangent. 
 " I think you are making a mistake," he said, with a 
 quiet emphasis which was not lost on the other, who 
 with a curt " Sorry" accepted the rebuff and rejoined 
 his gang. 
 
 Finishing his drink, which he wholly disliked, 
 
 137
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Ronald slowly moved off, stood at the doorway 
 for some seconds watching the crowd, then, feeling 
 dejected and lonely beyond words, ignoring the 
 doorkeeper's attempt to start a conversation, he 
 crossed the road and turned back towards Piccadilly 
 Circus, Pushing slowly through the crowd some- 
 thing soft and strongly scented rubbed against him. 
 He looked and saw a not bad-looking, rather 
 overdressed girl smiling up at him. She turned and 
 walking beside him passed a hand round his arm and 
 pressed it, saying as she did so : " Cheer up, sonnie, 
 don't look so down-'earted : 'tain't no good. You 
 just come along wiv me an' you'll be a'right — 'ere's 
 the bus," and she gently edged him through the press 
 of people. Almost without volition he was led 
 rather than went on to a bus, and found himself 
 seated outside beside her. Again taking hold of 
 his arm, she snuggled close to him on the seat. 
 Oblivious of her talk, while the bus swung on he 
 thought over the evening's happenings and again in 
 imagination he saw the scene in the taxi and cursed 
 Mrs Clemholt fervently. Then he turned to look at 
 the chattering girl. She smiled encouragingly and 
 squeezed more closely to him. It seemed hard to 
 imagine anything vicious or depraved behind that 
 frank, laughing, wax-doll face, with its bold, dark, 
 typical Cockney eyes that seemed so honest and 
 so friendly. Yet there could be no mistaking her 
 intentions. Perhaps, thought Ronald, with such 
 people it was not held for vice. He felt he must 
 make some response to her prattle. " Have you got 
 a flat ? " he asked inanely. " A wot ? " she exclaimed, 
 
 138
 
 Ce Pauv" P'^tit Joseph 
 
 wrinkling her brow; and then, as if comprehension had 
 dawned: " Oh, I see wochcr mean. Don't you worry, 
 dearie, that'll be a'right." Finding him unresponsive, 
 she ceased to talk and sat in silence, holding his arm 
 lightly. The soft, warm contact soothed him as the 
 bus swung on and rolled past King's Cross Station 
 and through the drab streets beyond. Where he 
 had got to he neither knew nor cared. He had 
 almost become unconscious of the fact that he was 
 not alone when his companion stood up. " We gets 
 off 'ere," she said, and turned to descend the stairs. 
 He followed. Angry at having started on the ven- 
 ture, but lacking the nerve to leave her, Ronald with 
 long strides pushed on, while the girl in preposterous 
 high-heeled boots, laced nearly to her knees, stotted 
 along beside him like a sparrow, still faithfully 
 hanging on to his arm. They turned down a squalid 
 street. He thought of those delicate dames, his 
 aunts, and closed his eyes, " It's 'ere," said his com- 
 panion, and stopping, released her hold on his arm 
 and rang a bell. A window above them was pushed 
 up quietly and a rasping, alcoholic voice asked 
 angrily : " Oo the 'ell's that wiv yer? " " It's a'right, 
 dearie, I'm bringin' 'ome the rent," replied the girl, 
 and turned to smile encouragingly to her escort. 
 
 But down the street, a votary at the shrine of 
 chastity, the rent was disappearing into the darkness. 
 
 139
 
 Je M'^en Fiche 
 
 To disembarrass oneself of immediate responsibilities — that, 
 my friend, is the true philosophy of life. 
 
 BONJEAN. 
 
 THAT our block of flats had worse luck 
 than others with these war-time page-boys 
 is hardly likely, and one became so accus- 
 tomed to a fresh face above the uniform which 
 seldom came anywhere near to fitting, covering as 
 it did a strange back almost once a week, that I 
 had not noticed the new-comer. On my entering 
 the lift he broke forth : " Mornin', sir. ' No. 28's 
 lost their black Persian. Five shillin's all they're 
 ofiferin'. They won't never get it back for that, you 
 know: ten bob's more like it," he added, yawning 
 undisguisedly. 
 
 I examined the imp. Very small, pale, with faded 
 hair and colourless yet sharp eyes, he might have 
 been anything from eight to sixteen, and he looked 
 out on the world from below a peaked and braided 
 cap many sizes too large for him, but which his bat- 
 Hke ears mercifully held up, with that expression of 
 wistful virtuousness sometimes seen in the faces of 
 slum-scouring curates. 
 
 I felt sorry for the sad-looking urchin, and in 
 answer to my questions he stated that his name was 
 'Grace, and that he did not know how long he might 
 remain. " Depends on the tips," he said, with 
 pleasing frankness, "The money I'm gettin' ain't 
 no catch." 
 
 Although I certainly did not invite him to do so, he 
 strolled with me to the entrance door in Knightsbridge, 
 where our Departmental car waited. The driver had 
 140
 
 Je M'en Fiche 
 
 the bonnet up and was fossicking in the engine. This 
 appeared to vastly intrigue 'Orace, for he at once 
 strolled round to the front of the car and planted 
 himself there to watch operations. The lift bell rang. 
 It continued to ring steadily, then angrily in jerks. 
 I drew the attention of 'Orace to the fact. Without 
 deigning to even glance at me, he said, " Yessir," and 
 continued to gaze at the car-driver and the engine. 
 I pointed out, perhaps a little sharply, that he had 
 better move as some person was probably wishful 
 to use the lift, whereat he looked at me reproach- 
 fully and strolled off, walking sideways like a crab, 
 still gazing at the car. The lift bell ceased its 
 persistent clamour, so I forgot about him while we 
 tinkered at the engine. Having got it to start, I was 
 just entering when I heard an explosion behind me 
 and turned to find 'Orace, still in the entrance, 
 being assailed by an irate dowager of exceeding 
 fatness, carrying a dog. I wondered how she had got 
 down the narrow stair. "You wicked, wicked boy," 
 she panted. " How dare you stand here and leave 
 the lift untended ? I have had to walk the whole 
 way down." 'Orace considered her sympathetic- 
 ally. " I'm very sorry, madam, but I 'ad to 'elp this 
 gentleman with 'is car," and madam turned on me ! 
 Fortunately the car moved off. Oddly enough, it 
 was with a car that 'Orace got in his first piece of 
 really fine work, but that comes later. 
 
 When I returned that evening Hollis, the care- 
 taker, was in charge of the lift, and Hollis was un- 
 happy, which grieved me, for he and I are great 
 friends, a friendship that dates from Bletsoe's visit. 
 
 141
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Previously Hollis, whose fine manners and aristocratic 
 appearance would have brought joy to Ouida's heart, 
 had merely accepted me along with the other tenants, 
 although the arrival of a case of noble proportions 
 containing whisky at a time of painful scarcity 
 seemed to produce a certain increased deference, 
 but it was when Bletsoe spent a night at my flat 
 that I really rose in his estimation. Now Bletsoe 
 is a brave man and saved my life, which is a personal 
 matter and entirely unimportant except to myself 
 and one or two other people, but Bletsoe rode a 
 winner of the Grand National, which is a national 
 matter and of excessive importance. That he, 
 Hollis, should have carried in his lift and spoken 
 to a man who had ridden the winner of that event, 
 and a race, too, that he had seen him win, raised the 
 old fellow to the seventh heaven, and then I under- 
 stood the litter of "early specials" and suchlike 
 that I had occasionally noticed in his little office. 
 Hollis had the national complaint very badly. I 
 was then informed that he had not missed a Derby 
 since Bend Or's and had seen most of the other big 
 races several times since the early eighties, and I 
 found myself promoted to be his turf confidant and 
 tipster-in-chief. It was risky work, for if I even 
 mentioned a horse's name he ran out to have " 'arf- 
 a-dollar up-an'-down" on it. Fortunately (although, 
 to press a piece of entirely unasked-for information 
 on the reader, I never bet promiscuously myself, 
 having had a look inside as it were) by the wildest 
 chance I occasionally gave him successful tips about 
 animals I would never have dared back myself. So 
 142
 
 Je M'en Fiche 
 
 HolHs and I were friends and his family history was 
 laid before me. Chiefly he respected a well-doing 
 brother who at one time '"ad bin clerkin' for one 
 of the biggest bookmakers in London, sir, before 
 them starting price shops spoilt the business. Wye, 
 given the customers, any Board-school child could 
 make an S.P. book these days." The said brother 
 had for some years " kep' a public out Enfield way " 
 and apparently was on the point of retiring, a credit 
 to the whole family. But we are digressing from 
 'Orace. " Did you 'appen to notice that new boy 
 as we've got, sir? " Hollis began, and I assured him 
 that I certainly had. "Wot d'you think 'e done? 
 No. 28 lost their black Persian kitten and offered a 
 reward of five shillings, an' this young limb finds it 
 an' locks It away downstairs till they would offer 
 more. 'E's bin gettin' 'imself and me into trouble 
 all day, an' wot can I do? Wye, if you as 
 much as speak sharp to 'em, let alone cuff their 
 'eads, they're fit to bring in a policeman on you. 
 Dunno wot things is comin' to along o' this war an' 
 a Government such as we 'ave, always playin' down 
 to Labour." Hollis, I would mention, was keenly 
 interested in politics and as stout a reactionary as 
 any Tory in the Lords, his bete noire being a person 
 he called "Lyin' George," on whom he impartially 
 laid the blame for everything. "Clearly the city is 
 the place for that boy," I remarked," and that reminds 
 me : I forgot to tell him myself — you might tell him to 
 watch for my car, and come up and let me know when 
 it arrives in the morning, as the others used to do," 
 for amongst our various " limbs " the unvarying long 
 
 143
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 suit was forgetfulness. Earlier that evening Fergus- 
 son had called, and finding 'Orace, asked if I were 
 in, adding that he had forgotten my number, a not 
 infrequent occurrence, but that he, 'Orace, doubtless 
 knew it. Like a flash, 'Orace, assuring him that I 
 was at home, gave a number, and took him up. N'ot 
 only was the number wrong, but the floor appeared to 
 be wrong. Now these mansions, forming a triangle, 
 were endowed with no less than three entrances, while 
 the decorative scheme was unrelieved and the doors 
 as alike as peas in a pod, so Fergusson mounted 
 stairs and descended them, passed through endless 
 swing doors, difiidently rang a bell here and there, 
 and finally, after feeling he would never get out, he 
 reached the street entrance and the lift. An elderly 
 man was in attendance, but Fergusson desired 'Orace. 
 " Has the boy gone off? " he asked. " Gone off" wot> 
 sir ? There ain't bin no boy 'ere, not since ten o'clock' 
 wen I come on agin afte' me brekfis', sir." And then 
 the explorer discovered that he had made a tour of 
 the building and was now in Brompton Road. Then 
 he remembered the number — or thought he had. He 
 was always a believer in inspirations, so after a pre- 
 cautionary geographical survey with the old fellow 
 he once more mounted and tried the bell at the fresh 
 number. Receiving no answer to his ringing, he 
 recommenced his perambulations, then almost in a 
 sudden access of apprehension he wandered down 
 the first stairs he came to and — found himself again 
 in the Brompton Road. Nearly beginning to doubt 
 his own sanity, but determined to interview 'Orace 
 once more before he threw up the sponge, he walked 
 
 144
 
 Je M'en FicJie 
 
 round outside the building and, discovering 'Orace 
 placidly surveying the traffic from his entrance, he 
 accused him, not in bitterness but really from curiosity, 
 of having misled him. " Yessir," answered 'Orace, 
 shifting his feet and taking his hands from his 
 pockets as if preparatory to flight. " Well, so far 
 as I can discover, he is not in," Fergusson informed 
 him. " No, sir," 'Orace agreed quite clamly. " This 
 is clearly a quaint bird," thought Fergusson, who, 
 fortunately for 'Orace, is generally more apt to be 
 amused than irritated by untoward happenings, so 
 he asked: "Do you know when he will be in?" 
 " 'Bout an 'arf-'our or so, sir," came the pat reply. 
 " How do you know ? " persisted Fergusson. " Dunno, 
 sir," said 'Orace. "Well, I'll come back in half-an- 
 hour and chance it — tell him that if he comes in." 
 "Yessir." "Do you know my name?" "Yessir." 
 "What is it?" " Dunno, sir." Baffled, Fergusson 
 gave it up and faded away. 
 
 It was nine o'clock next morning when 'Orace 
 presented himself at my door with the information 
 that the car had arrived. Now it was not my habit 
 to leave before half-past. Government Departments, 
 as the war has demonstrated to everyone, do not 
 take down the shutters before ten o'clock, unless in 
 some " Control," where various interested "shirkers" 
 or "indispensables" found it profitable to arrive 
 earlier and remain later than their fellows. 
 
 I am afraid I said " Bother the woman," or words 
 
 to that effect. " It's a man drivin' this mornin', sir," 
 
 said 'Orace, peering past me into the flat, and light 
 
 dawned. My regular driver would be taking a day 
 
 K 145
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 off, and no doubt some ignorant orderly ..." Tell 
 him not to wait. I'll go by bus," and I retired for 
 half-an-hour to see what the newspapers had to say 
 in the interests of Hollis. 
 
 At half-past nine I proceeded to the lift and rang 
 and continued to ring, but no sign of movement. 
 After the previous day's experience I was prepared 
 for anything, so I accepted the situation as philo- 
 sophically as I could, and hirpled down the stairs. 
 As I neared the foot I heard voices, one raised in 
 an angry falsetto, the other I recognised as the 
 plaintive bleat of 'Orace. How long the duet had 
 been going on I could not guess, but both sides were 
 well under way. 
 
 " Did the driver say where he was going ? " shrilled 
 Falsetto. 
 
 " Yessir," from 'Orace. 
 
 "Well? Well? Where was it?" 
 
 " I dunno," said 'Orace meekly. 
 
 "You — you " and Falsetto's voice died away 
 
 in an incoherent jabble of swear words. Fearing 
 homicide, I emerged into the passage to find a tail, 
 lean, frock-coated person with the orthodox silk hat, 
 eye-glasses, whiskers and black bag of a typical 
 medical man stooping over 'Orace, who cringed 
 against the wall. From the fragment I had heard 
 the silk-hatted one had my sympathy. 
 
 Then 'Orace swept me into it. "There 'e is, sir, 
 that's the gentleman," and he pointed to me. Frock- 
 coat almost ran at me and squealed : " Confound 
 you, sir ! What the devil do you mean by interfering 
 with my car? I am due at a consultation in five 
 146
 
 Je M'en Fie he 
 
 minutes and now I'm told that you have had the 
 
 damned impertinence " I had let him run on as 
 
 I was amused at his voice — it interested me — but I 
 thought it time to pull him up, so as mildly as any 
 Iamb, but, I hope, firmly, I said, " Really, sir, I can 
 
 stand a good deal, but " and then my blood did 
 
 its best to go through the performance known as 
 freezing, for just at that moment my own particular 
 car, with our own particular driver, drew up at the 
 entrance and stood there purring. The full horror 
 of the situation dawned on me and I looked at 
 'Orace. He was standing there nonchalantly gazing 
 at us with his lack-lustre but intelligent eyes. He 
 looked quite sad — perhaps he was disappointed that 
 we had not yet come to blows. "Look here, sir," I 
 began, with an air of heartiness I was far from 
 feeling, " I can explain " " I wish no explana- 
 tion," Frockcoat cut in. " I want my car ! " he 
 shouted at me. " Damn it, I never heard anything 
 like it in all my life." By this time we had reached 
 the street, accompanied, of course, by 'Orace — my 
 driver afterwards assured me that he winked to her, 
 but she was a saucy minx, gifted with an imagina- 
 tion. Possibly he still had hopes of witnessing an 
 assault. Clearly it was no use talking to him and 
 he was too small to kick, so I again tried to soothe 
 Frockcoat. " My dear sir, I know nothing about 
 your car, but here is my car, and I will gladly drop 
 you anywhere you wish." " I don't want to go in 
 your car," he cried, spluttering angrily, " I want my 
 own. I've a good mind to call a policeman." 
 
 The case was hopeless, and as passers-by were 
 
 147
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 beginning to take notice, I stepped into the car. 
 " Get me a taxi, boy ! " he snapped to 'Orace, and 
 just as we moved off 'Grace's brilliant impromptu 
 reached me, " Not allowed to leave the lift, sir," 
 and for once in a way his small voice seemed almost 
 cheerful. 
 
 But it was the telephone that really afforded 
 'Orace the widest scope. Half the private tele- 
 phones in the building were out of order and without 
 possibility of being put right while the war raged, or 
 dragged, according to your point of view, so that 
 the hall telephone was seldom idle. Sadly and in- 
 differently 'Orace would say people were in or out 
 according as it suited him, and if he did decide to 
 say " in " he merely set the lift in motion — if he could 
 find no one in the entrance hall — and, capturing the 
 first person he saw, took them to the telephone, then 
 strolled to the door to watch the traflfic. If he saw 
 no one about he rang the handiest bell, and as he 
 came on duty between nine and ten, the while Hollis 
 breakfasted, he offered up some interesting spectacles 
 of half-awake, scantily clad ladies, hastily tucked 
 into fur coats and, on the return journey, doubtless 
 after having had what are usually referred to as 
 " words " with some stranger at the other end of the 
 wire, eloquent with rage. The telephone occupied 
 most of his third day : he only remained with us for 
 one more and very little of it, but while it lasted he 
 rose to great heights. It began with two ladies. On 
 entering the lift one sniffed and remarked : " Funny 
 smell — rather like burning." " Hope the building's 
 not on fire," said her companion, with a giggle. As 
 148
 
 Je M'en Fiche 
 
 they got out at the ground floor two stout, fussy 
 little people, man and wife, entered. " Ridiculously 
 ventilated these mansions are ; smell of cooking's 
 disgraceful," said the man. "'Tain't cooking, sir. 
 Building's on fire," said 'Grace in his sorrowful tones. 
 " Wha-a-at!" screamed the pair. "Take us down at 
 once!" and they babbled at each other. "Has the 
 fire brigade been summoned ? " asked the lady, as 
 they jostled out of the lift. " Not yet, madam," 
 answered 'Grace mournfully. " Merciful heavens ! " 
 gasped the excited dame. "James! James! at 
 once ! " and the obedient James bustled to the 
 telephone. 
 
 In sailed a lady's-maid with three pekinese that 
 she had been airing across in the Park. Gn hearing 
 what the worthy James was bawling, she uttered a 
 long-drawn " Gh ! " and picking up her charges 
 rushed into the lift, calling out :" Quick ! Quick! I 
 must fetch my lady." As they moved heavenward, 
 the stout female raised a wail : " Don't go away ! 
 Don't leave us ! " But 'Grace had started and heeded 
 not. Into the building came a youngish man with 
 brisk step. Hearing the howls, and having been 
 nicely brought up, " What is the matter, madam ? " 
 he asked politely, at the same time raising his hat, 
 all as laid down in Tips for Toffs, now in its 
 eleventh edition, "The building's on fire and that 
 little imp there won't come back for us," she 
 blubbered, and reinforced by James ! James ! they 
 fiercely punched the bell and gazed anxiously up 
 the well of the lift, down which portents of the 
 coming storm were floating. 
 
 149
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " On fire ! " yelled the polite young man, and 
 throwing deportment to the winds he dashed up- 
 stairs four steps at a time. In his first jump he 
 barged into an immaculate person stepping sedately 
 down, having apparently been unsuccessful in getting 
 hold of 'Orace. " Where on earth are you coming 
 to?" he asked angrily, as he straightened up from 
 retrieving his bowler and started flicking it with a 
 startling silk handkerchief. " Coming to ! " shouted 
 the other as he started off again, " don't you know 
 the building's on fire?" and disappeared. At that 
 moment 'Orace descended and opening his gate 
 the fat pair bundled in, yelling at him. 'Orace 
 paid no attention, for the gentleman of the gaudy 
 handkerchief was interrogating him. As you may 
 have observed, anything other than his legitimate 
 occupation always attracted 'Orace. " It surely 
 must be in the east wing," said he. " Yessir," 
 promptly answered 'Orace. " Oh, well, in that case," 
 said the questioner, "they'll easily check it before 
 it gets this length," and strolled jauntily out into 
 Knightsbridge, while 'Orace, failing to find any 
 other distractions, yielded to the pressure of threats 
 and started the lift. 
 
 As the terrified babbling pair rose skywards, signs 
 were not wanting that the youth who had sprinted 
 up had done his gallant best to warn the inhabitants, 
 and, mingled with the yapping of myriads of small 
 dogs, persistent yells to stop greeted the trio as 
 they mounted past the different floors, but 'Orace 
 held steadily on to the fifth. 
 
 Releasing his fares, James ! James ! threatening 
 
 150
 
 Je M'en Fiche 
 
 him with death if he dared to go away before they 
 returned, the pair scampered off. They had no 
 sooner disappeared than a whimpering fat lady 
 turned up. 'Orace promptly took her in and started 
 downwards. Her peroxide transformation showed 
 signs of hasty adjustment, her amazingly high-heeled 
 boots were unbuttoned, and in the folds of her fur 
 coat she clutched a wheezing pug and a dispatch- 
 case, while she alternately whimpered and shivered. 
 Signs, too, were not wanting that she was not many 
 minutes out of bed. As 'Orace slammed the gate, 
 a despairing shout calling on him to stop echoed 
 along the passage, but he passed away. Etage 
 No. 4 was dull, but at floor No. 3 pandemonium 
 reigned. The landing was like the early hours 
 of a bargain sale with frantic females, all in fur 
 coats, and all carrying yelping, snuffling dogs, who 
 jostled at the gate or strove to pass through 
 the throng, a performance which was further com- 
 plicated by two little old men who had succeeded 
 in overturning a bureau across the head of the stairs 
 and were, despite agonised entreaties, accompanied 
 by thumps from vigorous feminine knees, crawling 
 about amongst the dogs and ladies' feet, endeavour- 
 ing to retrieve stacks of papers which had been 
 decanted from unlocked drawers. The lift remained 
 here for some time while 'Orace, carried into the 
 back of the car and nearly crushed out of existence 
 by the remnant-sale rush, was restored to his place 
 at the lever. Placidly he straightened his cap while 
 the passengers elbowed and squabbled amongst the 
 dogs. 
 
 151
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 With difficulty I made my way downstairs while 
 the building hummed like an overturned bee-hive. 
 The air was filled with the voices of small dogs and 
 women while the appearance of the floors recalled 
 the palmy days of the Caledonian Market. Manfully 
 I struggled on through ladies with dogs climbing 
 up, and dogs clasped by ladies barging down, and 
 finally, coming in view of the entrance hall, I found 
 it blocked with a surging, shouting crowd of tenants 
 with their pet dogs, and in the midst of them I 
 noticed the venerable head and tall figure of Hollis 
 with two policemen. I fought as politely as the 
 circumstances would allow through the throng and 
 the crowd outside, and going along Knights- 
 bridge, I sank down in the lounge of an adjacent 
 hotel and laughed till I wept. Fortunately I am 
 known there so I was not ejected. 
 
 It was Monday and I had an appointment with a 
 friend to look over some horses at Tattersalls, so 
 after dropping in my letters at the adjacent post 
 office, I turned into the lane passing along the west 
 side of our block. As I came out into the little 
 backwater, something moving on the left caught 
 my eye as it darted out into the street from our 
 Brompton Road door. It was 'Orace, jacketless 
 and capless, fleeing like an antelope before Hollis. 
 Such a student of racing form as he was might have 
 known that he could not give the weight away, and 
 age soon told its tale. He pulled up and I went 
 towards him. "How's the fire going?" I asked. 
 " My Gord, sir," was all he could say, " my Gord ! 
 The young imp of hell ! " and in his anguish he 
 
 152
 
 Je M'^en Fie he 
 
 succeeded in achieving the aspirate. I walked 
 slowly back to the doors with him. Apparently the 
 excitement was all at the other side as the entrance 
 was quite empty except for one lady. She, however, 
 sustained the best traditions of the mansions by 
 wearing a fur coat and carrying two pekinese. As 
 Hollis mechanically opened the swing door for her, 
 a faint noise resembling the combination of a Cup 
 final and a dog show came through. A furious 
 outburst of police whistles brought Hollis out to the 
 street again. We paused and gazed. At the head 
 of Sloane Street the traffic was being hurriedly 
 checked. Then came the climax. Round the corner 
 swung a fire engine and flew past Lord Strathnairn's 
 statue on two wheels : another followed and then an 
 auxiliary with a squad of helmeted men took the 
 turning in brave style — clearly James ! James ! had 
 done his work well, and I wondered how he and his 
 good lady were faring, 
 
 Hollis threw up his hands and with bowed head 
 disappeared slowly inside. I turned back to Tatter- 
 sails, and as I did so a tiny figure at their gate, 
 seeing me coming towards him, also turned and sped 
 into Brompton Road. 
 
 It might have been three weeks later when I 
 strolled past Harrods. Something familiar in a 
 small uniformed figure wielding a taxi flag struck 
 me. Yes, it undoubtedly was 'Orace. He too re- 
 cognised me and twisted his sad visage into a smile, 
 apprehensive and ingratiating. At that moment 
 the swing doors opened behind him and a majestic 
 
 153
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Kensington mamma with a delightful Kensington 
 daughter emerged. Glancing at them, 'Orace stepped 
 to the kerb, and stopped a west-going taxi in his old 
 familiar dead-alive manner. The driver pulled in 
 and 'Orace opened the door. " Gracious, boy ! " said 
 mamma, " we didn't order a taxi, did we, Mabel ? " 
 " No, mummy," cooed Mabel. 
 
 " Ladies don't want a taxi," said 'Orace nonchal- 
 antly as he slammed the door, but Nemesis was at 
 hand. Out of the near side of the vehicle the top 
 half of a frowsy, alcoholic driver appeared. Grabbing 
 the unsuspecting 'Orace with one fist, with the other 
 he seized the flag-stick. " 'Ere, wot the 'ell's this, 
 yer young swine ! " he snarled. " Secon' time this 
 week ye've come this gime on me." Still holding 
 'Orace, he clambered out, uttering language which 
 sent mummy and Mabel flying. I passed on, and as 
 I went a sound as of the beating of many carpets 
 followed me. 'Orace was meeting his Waterloo. 
 
 154
 
 Part II 
 
 Saddle a7td Spur 
 
 For I have breathed in epic and romance, 
 Have lived the dreams that thrilled me as a boy ! 
 
 Major Miles Langstaff.
 
 A Chance 
 
 Say, such is royal George's will, 
 An' there's the foe ! 
 
 Burns. 
 
 A BRIGHT, clear day with just that touch of 
 frost in the air that puts horses on their 
 toes and makes healthy men feel the desire 
 to do something strenuous. 
 
 A rolling grass country with gentle slopes and 
 broad hollows along one of which a little troop of 
 horsemen trotted in column of half-sections — in a 
 string of twos, if the military term be obscure. The 
 reckless brown faces, the gallant, careless poise of 
 the men's heads and the easy but perfectly balanced 
 seat yielding to every movement of the fretting but 
 well-controlled horses made a picture one might well 
 give praise for having lived to see. 
 
 Almost noiselessly they tittuped over the soft turf, 
 the only accompaniment to movement being the 
 jingle of bits and creaking of leather, with now and 
 then a tinkle as a scabbard tapped a spur. 
 
 " Niceish bit o' country, sir ; might fancy yourself 
 back at home in peace-time," remarked the troop 
 sergeant, who with the Lieutenant in charge of the 
 party rode at their head. 
 
 " Yes, and uncommon quiet too. Can't understand 
 
 how we've pushed in so far without Hullo ! 
 
 What's that coming in up there to the right?" said 
 the officer, giving the signal " Walk " and checking 
 his charger. 
 
 "Looks like one of our scouts with two prisoners, 
 sir," answered the sergeant, and as three cantering 
 horses came into clearer view it was seen to be two 
 
 157
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 fat-thighed Uhlans, shepherded by a trooper with his 
 rifle at the " carry." 
 
 Without waiting to be questioned, he volunteered : 
 " Prisoners, sir ; never showed fight — came in like 
 lambs. Seem to be the right flank guard of what 
 looks like an 'arf-squadron of Oolans advancin' along 
 the valley over that 'ill to your right 'and, sir." 
 
 "But Where's their advance guard, man?" said the 
 officer. 
 
 " Dunno, sir ; p'r'aps they ain't put out any. Any- 
 ways we ain't seen anythink of such. Smith 'e took 
 them two beggars' lances." Then turning and point- 
 ing, he added : " There 'e comes, sir, manooverin' 
 along below the ridge showing the points to kid the 
 Boche 'is men's still there, like as it were, sir." 
 
 Behind, although discipline prevented any undue 
 outward sign of curiosity, the halted troop strained 
 their ears in breathless silence. 
 
 " Brainy fellow," remarked the Lieutenant, and 
 turning sharply to the two Uhlans, he snapped, 
 fumbling for half-remembered Ollendorff": " Wie viele 
 sind dort ? " 
 
 Sullenly but without hesitation the elder of the 
 two answered : " Sechzig." 
 
 " That's sixty," reflected the officer. " Rather 
 more that twice our number, even if I could get the 
 other scouts back and there's no time for that." Then 
 turning to the Germans' captor, he asked : " Did you 
 notice the ground over the ridge, Buddoe?" 
 
 " I did catch a look, sir, and it's all like this as far 
 as I could see. Good as the Downs for a gallop, 
 sir," he added, seeing, or thinking he saw, what was 
 
 158
 
 A Chance 
 
 running in his officer's mind, for there is one abiding 
 hope in every cavalry soldier's breast and that is that, 
 whatever else may befall, he may one day get a 
 chance to use his sword or lance in action. 
 
 But the moments are fleeting and a cavalry officer 
 has to learn to make up his mind quickly. 
 
 Turning to his sergeant, the Lieutenant dismounted 
 and said : "Take my horse and I'll have a look. If 
 I make a signal like this, detach half-a-section to 
 move at a walk towards that knoll you see ahead 
 there along this right-hand ridge. When and if we 
 go over, they must gallop for that without showing 
 themselves, hand over their horses and take up 
 position there. The remainder will draw swords very 
 quietly. Bring them up at a walk in line facing the 
 ridge. If I'm not back to you by the time you reach 
 that bare patch — halt there. The wind's from them 
 to us, but for heaven's sake move quietly, and above 
 all, no talking." 
 
 Running lightly up the slope, doing the last few 
 yards on all-fours, the Lieutenant very slowly and 
 cautiously raised his head and took a swift compre- 
 hensive glance round, which gave him in that instant 
 all that he wanted. 
 
 Neither his scout nor the Uhlan had misled him. 
 
 About half-a-squadron of German lancers in 
 column were proceeding at a trot along the middle 
 of the broad, shallow valley next to where the British 
 troopers waited. In a few moments they would pass 
 level with where he lay — more than twice their 
 number and nearly three hundred yards away. 
 
 For a second or two he hesitated. "We were 
 
 159
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 not to fight," he pondered, " unless we couldn't help 
 it. Hang it, who could help it ! " His mind was 
 made up. 
 
 Sliding back on his face, he half raised himself and 
 made the signal. 
 
 Continuing his backward crawl till he judged he 
 was well out of sight, he jumped to his feet and ran 
 softly over the yielding turf to meet his approaching 
 troop. With a whisper to his sergeant of " Through 
 — right about wheel, then back at them ! " he swung 
 himself up and slipped out his sword. 
 
 No need for further caution to move quietly. 
 
 Literally quivering with tense keenness, the little 
 double line of horsemen moved silently forward. 
 
 The Lieutenant circled his sword arm once and 
 the happy band pressed their mounts into a gallop 
 and topping the crest went down the farther side 
 with a yell. 
 
 But one there was who did not share their 
 happiness. 
 
 Left behind with his two prisoners, now dismounted, 
 Trooper Buddoe felt that his lot was hard indeed. 
 When he saw his pals disappear over the sky-line 
 with that joyous shout he groaned aloud. When he 
 saw Trooper Smith toss away the two German lances 
 and, drawing his sword, gallop after them, tears welled 
 up in his eyes from sheer agony of spirit. 
 
 That he of all people should be left behind in 
 what might be the only chance they would ever get 
 of having a " real go " was to him a tragedy. Turn- 
 ing to the two causes, he cursed them fluently and 
 pointedly. 
 
 i6o
 
 A C/i 
 
 nance 
 
 Not understanding, but grasping the import and 
 knowing full well what had so often happened to dis- 
 armed prisoners in ///^z> gentle hands, the two Uhlans 
 simultaneously floj)ped to their knees and one hastily 
 thrust out a watch to their guard. With undisguised 
 glee he snatched at the chance to vent his feelings. 
 " Try to bribe me, woudger ! " he snarled, and swing- 
 ing up a foot — cloop ! he kicked the watch yards 
 away. With an agonised yelp the Teuton clapped 
 his injured paw under an armpit. 
 
 Across the rise floated the crash of the charge 
 going home and poor Buddoe's overstretched self- 
 control went entirely. 
 
 Dropping his rifle, he sprang with horrible impreca- 
 tions on the now thoroughly scared Uhlans, Swiftly 
 he ripped off their belts and jamming the unresisting 
 pair back to back he none too gently strapped them 
 arm to arm. 
 
 Literally throwing himself on his horse, he swung 
 his rifle butt with a resounding thump on the rump 
 of one of the German horses. With a snort the 
 startled animal bounded off. A shout and a flourish 
 sent its companion after it. 
 
 " They'll keep," he muttered, driving up the hill 
 like one possessed. Over the crest. Glory ! His 
 troop had smashed through the Germans and were 
 now wheeling to come back at them. He would be 
 in at the death after all. 
 
 When the British horsemen swept down from 
 
 apparently nowhere, the officer commanding the 
 
 Germans reined in aghast, his men instinctively 
 
 halting and bunching together. Not knowing that 
 
 L i6i
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 in that undulating country his scouts had completely 
 lost touch and direction, this miniature avalanche 
 bursting straight from the clouds on his fancied 
 security left him momentarily stupefied. 
 
 Rallying his wits, he strove to change his front 
 and get under way in time to meet the onslaught, 
 but the Uhlans were hardly in their stride when 
 the charge took them square in their centre with 
 irresistible force. 
 
 Bravely enough the German officer met it. Snatch- 
 ing his revolver, he blazed two hurried and ineffectual 
 shots at the British Lieutenant galloping full ten 
 yards ahead of his men. Before he could again 
 press the trigger that officer's sword took him in the 
 throat and his guttural '' Herr Goti!" finished in 
 a scream. 
 
 The impetus gathered on the slope by the horses, 
 and the men's determination to get to grips with 
 their foe was overwhelming. A twist of those strong 
 wrists and their points flashed past the harmlessly 
 turned lance-heads to go home to the hilt in what 
 was behind. 
 
 Beautifully they wheeled at the gallop and swung 
 back again. It was enough — the remnants of the 
 Uhlans broke and fled. Keenly the British troopers 
 started to pursue, but their officer, having success- 
 fully taken one risk, knew when to stop. Would 
 that all our gallant soldiers did ! 
 
 Not for nothing had he placed that half-section 
 dismounted, and the crack of their rifles, followed by 
 crashes as the bolting Huns were rapidly bowled 
 over, told that they too were getting their share, 
 
 162
 
 A Chance 
 
 while preventing any possibility of the Germans 
 rallying. 
 
 Anxiously the Lieutenant turned to his sergeant. 
 •' Any killed ? " he asked. " Not a man, sir. One or 
 two horses down, though." 
 
 "Well, take the Germans' I Hold the wounded 
 on their horses and move — move ! We must get 
 away : heaven knows what the firing may bring up." 
 
 A shrill whistle brought in the dismounted men, 
 then, catching sight of the valiant Buddoe, whose 
 grinning face and dripping sword were proof enough 
 that he had attained his wish, the amazed officer 
 broke out : " What the — where are your prisoners ? 
 Good heavens ! You don't mean to say that 
 you " 
 
 " It's all right, sir," answered Buddoe. " I have 
 them safe enough," and galloping off he swooped 
 down on the miserable pair sitting where he had left 
 them like two sick crows. 
 
 Reaching down, he nicked through the belts. 
 '"Op it ! " he cried, indicating with his weapon the 
 direction in which he intended they should '"op." 
 
 Now the German cavalryman is not an agile bird, 
 but half-an-inch of steel from a blood-bespattered 
 man with a gory sword is sufficient encouragement 
 to convert the stodgiest of mortals into a very 
 sprinter, and Trooper Buddoe drove his half-crazed 
 charges up at a rare pace just as the rest, with 
 hastily tied field-dressings, were sorting themselves 
 out on the move. 
 
 Thrust amongst the other prisoners, the pair were 
 bustled on to two riderless mounts. 
 
 163
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Throwing out what guards he could spare from 
 amongst his unwounded men, the Lieutenant himself 
 galloped swiftly back to each ridge in succession. 
 Anxiously he turned his glasses on the country, flank 
 and rear, then, satisfied that there was no danger 
 of pursuit, he rejoined his sergeant at the tail of 
 the troop. 
 
 Easing his belt and tunic, he mopped his face with 
 an ancient bandana. Suddenly he smacked his 
 thigh. " Gad, I nearly forgot it," he whispered, and 
 thrusting a hand into his haversack he produced a 
 tiny flask. Pouring half into the cup he passed it 
 across to the sergeant and, cutting ceremony, put 
 the flask to his own lips. 
 
 " Think we earned that," he remarked, and then 
 added : " Well, they can crack on till they're giddy 
 about * the rifle is the cavalryman's arm ' and all the 
 rest of mounted infantry tosh, and I'll admit the 
 guns may decide battles, but just let us see a chance, 
 that's all." 
 
 And revelling in the thought of the report he 
 would write, the Lieutenant trotted ahead. 
 
 164
 
 Jimmy 
 
 Life's a pleasant institution, 
 Let us take it as it comes. 
 Bab Ballads. 
 
 WHEN our reconstructionists and Empire 
 savers, whether professors or the ordinary 
 advertising politician, have exhausted 
 themselves bawling at the bewildered farmer, he 
 may have a moment to himself in which to exercise 
 his native common sense. Having chased the latest 
 tractor pedlar off his premises, he may observe that 
 animal The Mule. It will pay him to do so. The 
 mule is not pretty, but beyond cavil he is useful and 
 he lasts. When the war is over there will be many 
 more of him per centum of original starters than 
 of the horse. And he will, or ought to be cheap. 
 Indeed a sane Government will doubtless distribute 
 the army mule gratis over the land. But the mule 
 is a knave. When you know your horse you know 
 him. It may and often does take time, but his vices 
 and virtues are definite. Not so the mule : till he 
 dies or has killed you, he must be watched. That 
 trifling drawback apart, he is a jewel of a servant. 
 
 That no such utilitarian thoughts were likely to 
 inspire the bunch of gentlemen who form, as it were, 
 our opening chorus is fairly certain. Under brighter 
 conditions, with sunshine, flowers, and probably bees, 
 the sleepy little English v/ayside station would 
 doubtless have presented some charm. But to the 
 group of yeomen, on the grouse before they started 
 at having a precious afternoon's football broken into, 
 life for the moment held few joys. 
 
 A bleak, sodden winter day had driven them into 
 
 165
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 the chill apology for a waiting-room, destitute of 
 even a fireplace in which, soldier-like, they would soon 
 have found something to burn. The original novelty 
 of their ploy was wearing off. When, a few days 
 previously, word had come to this regiment, the bulk 
 of which had never seen a mule, that forty Mexicans 
 were on the way, some small excitement was raised. 
 For your horse lover, as they were to a boy, is drawn 
 to anything on four legs. But the subject had been 
 threshed threadbare, and the head-stall and rope that 
 each man carried reminded him of the missed football 
 match and only served to accentuate the gloom. 
 
 Nor was the sergeant without his own special 
 depression. An upholder of the classic tradition of 
 the inseparable connection between Venus and Mars, 
 he had, when fixing his usual Saturday evening 
 appointment, made what he considered ample allow- 
 ance for lateness of trains and trouble in getting 
 mules to their allotted quarters in the town half-a- 
 mile away. Fickle himself, he had no delusions 
 about constancy in others, and if he were not there 
 on the minute, he knew better than to hope that the 
 lady would wait. With the train already an hour 
 overdue, the consequences in a market town full of 
 military would hardly bear thinking about, for these 
 were the early days of the war and kharki enthusiasm 
 ran high. Clearly something must be done. 
 
 Unconsciously from habit settling his cap and 
 taking a pull at his tunic, he stepped along to the 
 " up " end of the platform, where the lanky subaltern 
 in charge of the party was staring hopelessly through 
 the gathering mirk at the long, glistening ribbon of 
 1 66
 
 Jimmy 
 
 line, as if ocular projection could bring the long over- 
 due train quicker. Halting and saluting, the sergeant 
 opened with " Beg pardon, sir, it's getting very dark." 
 
 Now the same atmospheric phenomenon had also 
 attracted the notice of the subaltern, and Martha, 
 as he was nicknamed, turned almost eagerly to the 
 speaker as though he hoped he brought some light — 
 if only mental. When it was known that he was to 
 have charge of the mule collecting party, the mess, 
 as messes will, dealt faithfully with him. Led by 
 a hero whose actual cow-punching experiences and 
 well-oiled imagination would have carried conviction 
 before a Royal Commission, they handed out blood- 
 curdling tales of man-eating mules. Never had so 
 many mule experts been gathered together on this 
 side of the Atlantic, and when one realist that day 
 at lunch-time held a very audible conversation with 
 the doctor, poor Martha, a capable enough though 
 nervous youth, heartily wished he had gone to sea 
 or joined the Flying Corps. Nor had the long, 
 solitary vigil in the dismal little station made the 
 prospects any more alluring. On the road to the 
 station, finding that his sergeant knew as little about 
 mules as he did, he had half confided his appre- 
 hensions, and in the recollection of this the amorous 
 one saw his chance. 
 
 " Be a bit awkward handling them savages in the 
 dark, sir," the sergeant went on. 
 
 "Yes, I was just thinking so myself," the lieutenant 
 answered. " Still, if these forty men can't take 
 charge of forty mules, they'd be better transferred 
 
 to the footsloggers and be done with it." 
 
 167
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " Oh, they're all right, sir, but," persisted the 
 tempter, " it's the responsibility of having some of 
 the men laid out, sir, as I was thinking of." 
 
 " But, hang it all, we've got to get them out and 
 away if they were tigers," said the thoroughly dis- 
 gusted Martha. 
 
 " Probably easier if they were, sir, from what I 
 hear," was the sergeant's rejoinder. " But supposing 
 we gets them out all right, sir, which I hope, what's 
 the matter with running them down into that place 
 there ? " and he pointed to a small square field be- 
 hind the station. " They'd be safe all right — Jerry 
 M. couldn't take these fences, and it's a good gate, 
 and my idea is, sir," he went on, warming to his 
 work and mentally seeing himself make his appoint- 
 ment after all, "that as we opens up the trucks — 
 nine to a truck they go, as you know, sir — a dozen 
 men's all we want to get them out ; then form a 
 lane down to the gate, sir, and in they goes, and we 
 can come back in the morning and take them along 
 as handy as you like, sir." And the sergeant leaned 
 back slightly and set his head just as far as discipline 
 would permit to one side, with the air of one who 
 thinks he has created a masterpiece but is not quite 
 sure. 
 
 But though the sergeant's suggestion had nothing 
 altruistic about it, it was sound enough. What 
 Martha might have done had he had time to ponder 
 over it need not matter. At that moment the lights 
 showed up simultaneously with a shout from the 
 stationmaster, in what a wag had called his best 
 half-crown voice, of " Here she comes, sir ! " 
 i68
 
 Jimmy 
 
 That decided it. "All right, sergeant," said 
 Martha, "we will just shove them in," and without 
 giving it a second to cool, as he later expressed it, 
 the sergeant hastily saluted and passed quickly back 
 to give the news and their instructions to the men, 
 now surging out of their band-box of a waiting-room. 
 And right welcome was the word, for many were in 
 like case to himself. 
 
 Swiftly the pins of the foremost truck were slipped. 
 Down bumped the gangway and the first daring 
 spirits were in. Cold and stiff from their journey, 
 there was little kick in the mules and all went well. 
 So well indeed that the sergeant judged it advisable 
 to disappear in the direction of the field and super- 
 vise from that end in case his officer might change 
 his mind. But Martha was only too glad to see the 
 afternoon's work over. 
 
 It was only when the last truck was decanted that 
 the corporal told off to check the tally said : "That's 
 forty-one, sir." 
 
 " I make it that too," said the lieutenant, adding, 
 "and just look at the forty-oneth," as the last mule 
 stepped sedately out of the truck. A beautiful grey 
 amongst all the dingy browns, he seemed in the 
 dim light of the station lamps to be shaped like a 
 thoroughbred. " Oh, well, we can argue it out after- 
 wards," said Martha, and the gate was closed. Dis- 
 missing the men, he set out with the inwardly jubilant 
 sergeant. Suddenly he stopped. "Good heavens!" 
 he gasped, " it never struck me. Suppose a train 
 comes along through the night and stampedes them." 
 
 "That's all right, sir," his sergeant assured him. 
 
 169
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " I asked the stationmaster and he tells me there's 
 nothing goes through till to-morrow afternoon, and 
 we'll have them away long before that." 
 
 Forty they safely housed the next morning, but 
 the grey had simply disappeared. That he had been 
 with the others admitted of no doubt. An officer 
 and a squad of men could vouch for that. But as 
 they only wanted forty and forty they had got, the 
 matter was conveniently dropped, and the mess 
 found fresh fodder for jest. 
 
 But there was little jesting in the orderly room 
 when someone in authority began to agitate the 
 wires, peremptorily demanding that a mule, colour 
 not stated, should be returned forthwith and at once 
 whence it had departed. And as simultaneously 
 complaints began to arrive from farmers over a 
 surprising area, of damage done by a " grey army 
 horse," the adjutant commenced to take measures. 
 As in the army all forms of trouble are passed on 
 down the scale of rank, he started with the wretched 
 Martha. His feelings eased, he high-handedly re- 
 fused responsibility to both ends. But a determined 
 Department at one end and importunate farmers at 
 the other, with statements of damage — personally 
 detailed when they got the chance — soon made that 
 attitude impossible. 
 
 So the word went forth that the grey mule was to 
 be recaptured, and half-a-county lent a hand. 
 
 But, elusive as a will-o'-the-wisp, the truant defied 
 them. Daily, squadron leaders worked their 
 " schemes " in districts where he had been reported. 
 Once, indeed, he was nearly captured, when a lieu- 
 
 170
 
 Jimmy 
 
 tenant and his troop headed him for home, and in 
 extended order galloped him in full view for five 
 hilarious minutes till stopped by wire, over which 
 the fugitive went like a stag. But all to no purpose, 
 and the orderly room had begun to wilt under the 
 combined attacks, when the impasse was broken by 
 the culprit giving himself up. 
 
 One Sunday morning, when the regiment was 
 assembling for church parade, a laughing crowd of 
 youngsters marched up the main street of the old 
 town with the grey mule in the centre. Tired of a 
 wanderer's life, he had calmly dropped in to take 
 up work, and as one of the original forty had died, 
 Jimmy, as he was christened, was taken on the 
 strength to replace it. 
 
 Adopted by Reddy Brown, ex-stable lad and 
 genial rascal, the tales of the grey mule lost nothing 
 in the relating. Other mules might — and did — 
 savage and kick, but Jimmy, like Talleyrand, was 
 always a gentleman. 
 
 Upon a day it was decided that regimental sports 
 be held, and who so surprised as Martha when 
 stopped respectfully by Reddy Brown. 
 
 " Beg pardin, sir, but are you goin' in for any- 
 thing at the sports ? " 
 
 " No, I wasn't, Brown," answered Martha, colouring 
 slightly at having to admit it. 
 
 " Well, sir, the novices' jumpin' competition for 
 officers is a fair pinch for you." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense," laughed Martha ; " that old screw 
 of mine is good enough, but look what I would be 
 up against." 
 
 171
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " Ride Jimmy, sir," breathed Reddy impressively. 
 
 "Jimmy! You surely don't mean that grey 
 mule?" 
 
 '* That I do, sir. Look 'ere, sir. 'Member 'ow 'e got 
 outer that field by the station ? 'Ow did 'e do it ? 
 Jumpin' ! 'Member 'ow 'e got away from Mister 
 Paget's troop? 'Ow was that? Jumpin'! I tell 
 yer, sir, 'e jumps like a cat : walk up to it or in 'is 
 stride. W'y, it's pickin' up money to back yer- 
 self, and 'e's as quiet as a lamb to ride, and, beggin' 
 yer pardin, sir," he added, with a deprecating cough, 
 " them mess servants talks a bit. I did 'ear as 'ow 
 you 'ad got yerself chipped over that there mule, so 
 wot's the matter wiv gettin' a bit o' yer own back? " 
 
 " But, hang it all. Brown, the mule's not a charger." 
 
 " No, nor 'e don't need to be neither. Look 'ere, 
 sir, I knows abaht them things — trust me. Wot's 
 the condishings? ' Hentries confined to remounts as 
 'ave been taken on the strength since January first.' 
 Remounts, d'ye see, sir? It's a mistake, but it's 
 your chance — and don't take less than tens, sir." 
 
 " Tens ? " queried the mystified Martha. 
 
 " Yessir, the odds : ten ter one, like, and look 'ere, 
 sir, walk over to-day 'tween one an' two, when things 
 is quiet, an' try 'im. There won't be nobody abaht. 
 Since I spotted it I've been slippin' 'im over them 
 jumps reg'ler, an' 'e's a fair marvel. Try 'im, sir, an' 
 see, an' mum's the word." 
 
 Punctually at one o'clock Martha turned up to 
 join Reddy with the grey mule saddled and waiting. 
 A little white about the gills, but determined, he 
 mounted and cantered off with his mentor's parting 
 172
 
 Jimmy 
 
 words ringing in his ears : " All you 'as ter do, sir, is 
 sit still; VV/ do the rest!" Twice he went round, 
 the mule moving like a machine, taking the jumps 
 single and double and the mud-hole that represented 
 the " water jump" without a check. " Lordlummy," 
 murmured Reddy, as he anxiously watched the 
 performance, "if 'e bumped much 'igher outer the 
 saddle we'd 'ave to shoot 'im to get 'im down." 
 
 " I'm on," said Martha, as he dismounted. " I'll do 
 it and you stand in a pound." 
 
 " Thankye, sir," said Reddy heartily ; " but mind, 
 sir, tens — no less." 
 
 That evening Martha entered his name amidst 
 wild hilarity, for his form as a horseman was known 
 to an ounce. " Never mind what I'm going to ride," 
 was his reply to a volley of questions ; " I'm going 
 to, and, what's more, I'll back myself for a fiver." 
 
 Wilder still grew the merriment, and the vet, a 
 sporting Irishman, taking over the situation and 
 quelling the racket and scramble to get on, Martha 
 found himself laid sixty pounds to his five by exactly 
 twelve of his brother officers. 
 
 It would not be easy to describe the adjutant's 
 feelings when, on the competitors appearing for the 
 officers' novice jumping, it was seen that Martha was 
 mounted, clearly meaning business, on the grey 
 mule, till that moment carefully kept well out of 
 sight in the background of some trees by the artful 
 Reddy. But the crowd round the ropes, consisting 
 of the regiment and everybody within a radius of 
 miles, made no effort to conceal theirs, and from all 
 sides a gust of laughter went up. 
 
 173
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Recalling the past, and feeling that there was 
 something in this directed at him, the adjutant, 
 collecting the colonel, hotly made for Martha. But 
 the well-coached Martha stuck to his guns. 
 
 " He is quite right, Spencer," decided the colonel, 
 when the matter was gone into, " and very sporting 
 of him too." 
 
 The hilarity of the crowd was unbounded, and un- 
 accustomed to being hemmed in all round with such 
 a noise, the more fancied candidates blundered 
 round one by one till Martha last of all started off. 
 
 What need to describe the triumph. Without 
 putting a foot wrong the grey mule made the circuit 
 twice and, answering the almost hysterical yells of 
 the spectators with one resounding bray, Jimmy 
 carried his rider out an easy winner. 
 
 That night, at a riotous mess, from which the 
 colonel had prudently retired early, a message was 
 brought to Martha that someone wanted to speak to 
 him outside. The light flooding through the opened 
 door showed him a swaying figure which resolved 
 itself into Reddy, laboriously saluting. 
 
 '"Tain't for the money I've come, sir," he stuttered, 
 " it's just to say that Jimmy's all right, sir. 'E'll 'ave 
 an 'ell of a back in the mornin', I shouldn't wonder, 
 but lor', sir, wot a skinner ! " 
 
 174
 
 " The Best Laid Schemes " 
 
 The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 
 Gang aft agley. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 AS a man who knows more — much more — 
 about most things than you or I has stated 
 in cold print that all racing is rotten, we 
 may safely leave him in undisturbed possession of 
 his statement. Yet though you may be able occasion- 
 ally to convince a man that he is no judge of wine, 
 never, no, never, will you persuade him that he knows 
 nothing about horses. A cause of great rejoicing to 
 many, not forgetting tailors. 
 
 But no explanation of these things could have 
 convinced Lieutenant John Saunders that it was 
 necessary to waken him out of his hard-earned sleep 
 (for he had that day just completed his turn of being 
 "orderly dog") at nearly midnight to make him, a 
 canny Scot, a partner in any nefarious racing scheme. 
 
 And now, gentle reader, you will conceive yourself 
 transported on the Magic Carpet to the outskirts of 
 Cairo, but spared the possibly anticipated description. 
 Banal and overrated at any time, Cairo in war-time 
 was merely a blemish. 
 
 Day had just dawned when an arabeyah contain- 
 ing two British officers. Captain O'Neil and his 
 Jonathan pal, Lieutenant Hickory, drives up. Three 
 natives and a dapper little British sergeant are 
 already waiting with two ponies, O'Neil's " Metemeh " 
 and the other " the fastest thing in Egypt over five 
 furlongs," which that astute Irishman has somehow 
 managed to borrow for a trial horse. Without any 
 delay the two ponies are started with a handkerchief
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 on a stick, and as they flash past the improvised 
 winning post, Metemeh, ridden by Quartermaster- 
 Sergeant Byng, well known "over the sticks" at 
 home, sails in a winner by half-a-length, and — pulls 
 up lame. The joy of the pair dies stillborn, and 
 anxiously they hurry along to the now dismounted 
 Byng, His news, however, is reassuring. " He's done 
 the same thing before, sir," he tells Captain O'Neil, 
 "but he always comes round in a day or two. I'll 
 just give him walking exercise till the day of the 
 race ; he'll be all right, I'm certain, but he won't 
 stand another gallop." 
 
 Now back to Saunders. The arabeyah driver 
 pulled up his panting ponies with a jerk that nearly 
 threw them on their haunches, and our two friends 
 of the trial, shouting to him to wait — somewhat 
 superfluous with an arabeyah driver who has not 
 been paid — hurried through the gateway of the 
 officers' quarters in the Abbassia cavalry barracks. 
 A sleepy native watchman rose in one movement 
 to his feet and salaamed as they passed into the 
 courtyard. Tawdry and depressing in daylight, in 
 the deathly stillness of the night and the glare of 
 the moon it seemed full of the mystery and magic 
 of the East that one hears so much of and seldom 
 or never sees. 
 
 But the language the visitors were using was 
 neither magical nor mysterious. Dashing into the 
 flat-roofed building, the foremost pulled up at a 
 door and struck a match. " Here we are," he said ; 
 "this is Jock's," and in they went. In a corner of 
 the high-ceilinged, stone-flagged room the white 
 
 176
 
 " The Best Laid Schemes'^'' 
 
 mosquito curtain and regular snoring indicated the 
 whereabouts of the occupant. Fumbling at the 
 bedside, the intruders found the lamp they knew 
 would be there, and lighting it, they shouted in 
 chorus at the sleeper. 
 
 " What's matter ? " he said drowsily, blinking 
 through the curtain at the two excited figures. 
 
 " We want that bay polo pony of yours," said the 
 taller and calmer of the two, having succeeded in 
 quieting his companion. 
 
 " Oh, go to the devil, O'Neil," said Saunders 
 angrily. " I don't sell ponies in my sleep, you 
 damned horse-coping Irishman." 
 
 But O'Neil was not to be shaken off so easily. 
 
 "Look here, Jock " he continued. 
 
 " Shut up, will you, and go away — you're tight ! " 
 snapped Saunders, rolling over. 
 
 " Oh, confound it, fire his net ! " said the more 
 impetuous Hickory, and giving his friend's hand 
 with the lamp a push against the mosquito curtain, 
 it went up in a wild flare and in a few seconds all 
 that remained of it was blackened and smouldering 
 shreds hanging on the thin steel rods. For a moment 
 Saunders sat up in bed and gazed stupefied at the 
 flickering havoc, then without a word hurled himself 
 at his disturbers. But the odds were too heavy for 
 a barefooted man. Soon the scuffling and banging 
 in the darkness ceased and one of the panting com- 
 batants said : " Will you let me explain if we let you 
 up? We don't want to buy your beastly crock — we 
 only want to fill an entry. You don't even need to 
 start him." 
 
 M 177
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 "Why on earth couldn't you say so at first?" 
 came Saunders' muffled voice. " Get off my chest 
 and light the lamp," 
 
 " Now, it's like this," said the tall conspirator. 
 " You know I have entered my pony Metemeh in 
 the five-furlong novice scurry at the opening meet- 
 ing at Gezireh. Well, it's a pinch for him — a stone- 
 cold certainty. We tried him yesterday and he 
 beat the fastest pony in Egypt at level weights. 
 On your life, not a whisper, but it's positively money 
 for nothing, and I'll be bothered if we haven't just 
 heard that the race hasn't filled ! There are only five 
 entries, and unless there are six it's no deal, so we 
 want you to enter your pony now. I have a form 
 here, but the entries close at midnight, and if we 
 don't get back to the Turf Club by then it's all up 
 the pole." 
 
 " What will it cost?" queried Saunders. 
 
 " Oh, hang the cost and you too, you mouldy 
 saxpence! We'll get that all back — I'll square 
 everything ; all we want from you is the entry, with 
 his name, age and your colours," answered the other, 
 with a frenzied glance at his watch. 
 
 "Right," said Saunders: "he's aged, he's got no 
 name, so you can call him Joseph or Potiphar or 
 whatever you like, and my colours are anything 
 you jolly well please." 
 
 "Well, quick," said O'Neil, "sign this entry form 
 and I'll fill in the rest when we get over, but for 
 heaven's sake hurry up ! " 
 
 Hunting about the room for a pen, with the pain- 
 fully anxious pair following him so closely that their 
 178
 
 " The Best Laid Schemes'''' 
 
 movements resembled a trio trying to do a two-step 
 together, Saunders finally found one and signed the 
 precious document. Clutching at the paper and 
 nearly tearing it in their eagerness, with a hurried 
 *' Good-night !" the intruders rushed away, clattered 
 through the courtyard and leaped into the waiting 
 arabeyah, shouting : " Turf Club, iggri\ " 
 
 As they settled themselves in the badly sprung 
 vehicle O'Neil rubbed his ribs and remarked : " I 
 am sorry to leave Jock without a mosquito net — 
 he'll be a sight in the morning! But he has got 
 a heavy hand. Thank goodness he didn't think we 
 were burglars or he'd have finished us both ! " 
 
 Back in the bedroom, Lieutenant Saunders stood 
 without moving in the centre of the room till the 
 noise of the wheels died away, then picking up the 
 lamp and moving to the still open door, he quietly 
 called : " Mahomet ! " Almost without a sound his 
 servant loomed up. "You know Captain O' Neil's 
 room ? " 
 
 " Yessare." 
 
 "Well, go across and take his mosquito curtain 
 off his bed ; bring it here and put it on mine. If 
 his servant objects — kill him." 
 
 " Yessare." 
 
 Judging by the crowd, all white Cairo had graced 
 the opening meeting at Gezireh Race-course with a 
 background oi cafc-au-lait " Notables " and Levantine 
 nondescripts. As the five-furlong scurry was the 
 first event on the card, the trio were early on the 
 mark, laden with all they could raise in " ready." 
 
 Four ponies lined up at the end of the straight 
 
 179
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 behind the five-furlong tapes, and with little trouble 
 they were got away, the patched-up Metemeh, ridden 
 by that capable horseman, Captain Ladkin, lying 
 handy for the one effort he knew him equal to. 
 Judging his distance to a yard, he sat down and 
 nursed the pony first past the post by a comfortable 
 length. 
 
 But what is all the taniasha about? Hither and 
 thither the crowd moves like quicksilver on a plate, 
 and then the news comes through. The flag has 
 never fallen. The tapes had caught and only gone 
 up at one side and — it is " no race." 
 
 Vainly Ladkin tries a bluff. Walking Metemeh up 
 to the judge's box, he leans across confidentially and 
 says in dulcet tones : " My dear sir, what is the good of 
 running the race over again ? Everybody s satisfied ! " 
 Such an effort deserves success and for a moment it 
 leaves the judge nonplussed, but, recovering himself, 
 he merely replies : " No race — back you go." And 
 back they trail. 
 
 Anxiously the three gazed at the ponies as they 
 went up. " This leaves me speechless," groaned 
 O'Neil. " Metemeh is as lame as a cat — we ought 
 to hedge and we haven't a piastre left. And the 
 worst of it is that everybody's rushing to get on to 
 Metemeh. They don't know he's lame, and if old 
 Laddie does by some miracle manage to get him 
 home it will be 'odds on' that we'll get. Where 
 are you going to, Jock?" he continued, turning to 
 Saunders, who had suddenly moved off. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me they are still letting 
 them bet?" said that worthy, his voice in his agita- 
 i8o
 
 " The Best Laid Schemes'*'* 
 
 tion rising crescendo. " I'm away to find a steward. 
 It's criminal : it's downright robbery to leave the 
 totalisators open. We would be getting ' tens ' if 
 they were closed now, as they should be I " 
 
 " Come here," said the more experienced O'Neil, 
 catching his arm. " You may as well stay where 
 you are. You surely don't imagine any steward 
 would listen to you. We're in the cart and we may 
 as well be driven home." 
 
 Reduced to impotent silence, they watched the 
 run off with solemn faces. No hanging back this 
 time for Ladkin. Pinching a good start, he took 
 the shortest road home and by consummate horse- 
 manship actually squeezed Metemeh through, a 
 winner by the shortest of short heads. 
 
 "Evens" was all that the promised coup brought 
 them, but to this day Saunders has not ceased to 
 regret that he was not allowed to try it on a steward. 
 " He might have been a green hand and done it," 
 he argues, " and then," he pathetically adds, " we 
 might at least have got ' threes.' " 
 
 i8i
 
 At the Railhead 
 
 When Allah created the Desert, he laughed. 
 
 Arab Saying. 
 
 DAWN in the desert. 
 Slowly, and one would almost have thought 
 viciously,the long train had dragged through 
 the night, and as those of the occupants whose 
 need for sleep had been stronger than the uneven 
 jolting of the ill-balanced carriages grudgingly 
 awoke from a fitful drowse, they shivered in the grey 
 light and cursed their luck in finding themselves 
 awake again. Fierce indeed is the winter cold of the 
 desert night and a bitter affliction to men who have 
 sweated in kharki serge through the day under a 
 hot sun and lain down, without undoing a button, to 
 sleep — if they could. 
 
 Our brethren who strove in Flanders mud should 
 know this that they may readjust the perspective 
 when envying those whom Fate and the War Office 
 had sent to fight in southern climes. 
 
 Even the myriads of fleas seemed frozen into 
 friendliness, although that may merely have been 
 satiety. 
 
 As far as the eye could carry, the train was 
 hirpling through a limitless stony waste. To men 
 whose mental picture of the The Desert was founded 
 on tourist literature illustrated with scenes of fruitful 
 palms set in rolling plains of golden sand to a 
 background of dazzling blue, the shock was a real 
 tragedy. 
 
 Throughout this rocky landscape the only sign of 
 life was a shepherd swathed in voluminous sheeting, 
 with his woeful-looking flock of lop-eared sheep, 
 
 182
 
 At the Railhead 
 
 conscientiously keeping up the Old Testament 
 traditions. Indeed his piebald muttons were the 
 thirtieth chapter of Genesis to the very life, and as 
 the erudite ones would have us know that nothing 
 changes in the unchanging East, doubtless Jacob 
 himself went down into Egypt similarly clad. 
 
 But although our shepherd had disdained to 
 exchange the raiment of his fathers for Hawick 
 tweed cap and elastic-sided boots, that instinct of 
 self-preservation which is the desert's first law had 
 brought about a concession to this scientific age in 
 the form of an extremely modern-looking rifle slung 
 Tyrol fashion on one shoulder. 
 
 As the morning opened, the larger stars still 
 lingered amazingly bright in the cold, steel-grey sky, 
 but the gathering light brought no cheer to those 
 who looked out in numb silence at the appalling 
 desolation of this barren wilderness. Uneasily the 
 youngsters, from whose cheeks the Eastern sun had 
 not yet bleached the ruddy sap, gazed and muttered 
 uncomplimentary things about the Promised Land, 
 
 In the fore part of the train, in the officers' com- 
 partments, all were now wide awake, and a message 
 passed along that someone was dispensing hospitality, 
 calculated at least to cheer if the limited quantity 
 prevented it doing anything more, was responded to 
 with alacrity. Indeed more or any sleep was frankly 
 impossible as the wakened men were now vigorously 
 stamping their half-frozen feet to the ribald chorus 
 of Farmer Brown^s Cow. 
 
 But an end comes to all things ; even to an appar- 
 ently endless railway journey into the desert. 
 
 183
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Long before the hour when respectable citizens at 
 home are settling down to their breakfasts, to read in 
 a few minutes of what has taken weary men months 
 to perform, the troop train chugged into the railhead. 
 
 A glance sufficed to take in the long, empty plat- 
 form and raffle of shanties which made up the 
 station. Save for the solitary Sikh sentry standing 
 expressionless, with fixed bayonet, the only occupant 
 seemed to be a sleepy-looking Gippy telegraph clerk. 
 
 Being unable to waste any time in sight-seeing, 
 a hundred odd dirty and dishevelled, but eminently 
 business-like troopers came out like a swarm of bees 
 on the far side of the train. After a {q^n preliminary 
 arm swings, cabman fashion, they spread themselves 
 along the rear of the train and clambered over the 
 horse trucks in a way that showed that they knew 
 their job and required no urging to get after it. 
 
 Horses, yes, for this is a squadron of cavalry. 
 
 Perhaps the war may yet throw up someone who 
 will do justice to the horse in these iconoclastic days. 
 Stunk off the streets and the land by taxi-cab and 
 tractor, the shadow of mechanics is over the erst- 
 while friend of man. So the Press-fed public has 
 cheerfully voted him a military false alarm and 
 labels him a back number accordingly. But to dis- 
 cerning minds the value of the horse in war is as 
 great as ever — in competent hands. The simple 
 fact is that a world's war in a mechanical era has 
 relatively limited the scope at varying stages, and 
 the untrained observer, saturated with the petrol 
 idea, clamours for levers, overlooking that there are 
 still things that only the horse can do. 
 184
 
 At the Railhead 
 
 When the final history of this war is written it will 
 be seen that there were great achievements which, 
 without the horse, could not have been attempted. 
 
 Incidentally, any fag-sucking, chinless wonder can 
 hang on to a steering wheel : horses require men. 
 
 Bang ! Bang ! Bang ! went the gangways as they 
 boomed down. 
 
 As each man took over his mount, he carefully 
 walked him clear of the train and ran an expert 
 hand over him, quite realising that they were bound 
 for a land where remount camps were not. Tucked 
 up and walking stiffly after their cold night, the 
 horses were walked about and hand-rubbed into 
 some sort of warmth, while the saddles and kits 
 were sorted out. 
 
 The major, careful man, had sent an officer 
 straight to inspect the well. Of all the varied night- 
 mares that beset our fighting men in the desert, the 
 ever-present anxiety about water was the chiefest. 
 Only those who have gathered towards the end of a 
 long, trying day at a dry water-hole, enthusiastically 
 labelled " well " on the map, can realise the need for 
 taking nothing on trust : even comparatively near 
 what, for the want of a better word, we can only term 
 civilisation. 
 
 But this time at least there was a real well — 
 a stout and decently built affair of concrete, with a 
 supercilious camel yoked to the light end of a 
 weighted beam which raised and lowered the bucket 
 with, on the return journey, a resounding and, in 
 that arid land, a comforting splash. 
 
 The horses watered and fed, but not a moment 
 
 185
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 sooner, the men fell to their breakfast with a will, for 
 the sun had not yet sent forth that heat which makes 
 all but the most ravenous appetite turn with loathing 
 from the eternal bully and biscuit. 
 
 Anxious to make the most of the cool of the 
 morning, the squadron leader soon had his men 
 formed up in line dismounted, while he carried out 
 a brief but keen inspection. 
 
 A sharp word of command and on the left of the 
 line a troop mounted and moved forward, breaking 
 into a trot as they set out. Half-a-mile away they 
 halted and the lieutenant in command, with an 
 earnestness which did not fail to impress the men, as 
 indeed it was meant to, with the fact that they were 
 now in enemy country, gave them their directions. 
 
 Leaving two men halted, the remainder rapidly 
 spread out fanwise over the drab desert, now becom- 
 ing more broken and hilly, until they were mere dots 
 in the distance. 
 
 As the main body started off, other dots, also in 
 pairs, could be seen moving in parallel lines far out 
 to the flanks, while a small group, detailed to act as 
 rear-guard, remained at the railhead, for all the 
 world as if they were giving the others a start in 
 a long-distance race. 
 
 The squadron thus marched within a complete 
 fence of scouts, and as they broke into a trot a little 
 grey and white bird rose in front of the line, fluttered 
 a few yards to alight and rise again. 
 
 " Look, Alf, wot d'ye think o' seein' the likes o' 
 that 'ere," remarked a trooper — for they were march- 
 ing " at ease " — to his neighbour. 
 i86
 
 At the Railhead 
 
 "Lordy! If it ain't a bloomin' little watery 
 wagtail," said Alf. " Makes you think of 'ome a bit, 
 don't it?" 
 
 Far out of the line of march two Arabs lay 
 huddled among a heap of rocks on a hill-top, 
 watching with hawk eyes the squadron's direction, 
 
 " O Allah," snarled the elder, " what day of mis- 
 fortune is here ! What said the Turkish Emir from 
 Istambul ^ who came with the new rifles ? — may Allah 
 cut short his life ! ' Rise,' said he, ' and all Masr ^ is 
 thine : the Inglees Franks sink under the strokes : 
 the fruit is there for the stretching forth.' And lo ! 
 now come the infidel dogs mounted on great horses 
 — like locusts they come. Hasten swiftly, thou, 
 Hassein, to our Sheikh, Jebel-ush-Sheikh, and 
 acquaint him of this coming. Say that I await. 
 Take heed thou goest with care that these black 
 men with knives on their guns do not take thee as 
 they did thy cousin Mahmud but yesterday. Allah 
 guard thee safely, O Hassein ! " 
 
 " And thee," replied the younger man, who without 
 delay commenced to slip noiselessly down the rocks. 
 Arriving at the foot, he gazed keenly round. His 
 caution satisfied, slinging his rifle, he set his face 
 towards El Maghrib^ and went away at a dog-trot 
 which would take him sixty miles ere nightfall. 
 
 1 Istambul = Constantinople. 
 
 2 Masr = Egypt. 
 
 3 El Maghrib = The Land of Setting Sun {lit.). 
 
 187
 
 Beulah 
 
 Johnny, get your gun ! 
 Old Song. 
 
 THE subaltern led his dusty troop down 
 the path that dipped rapidly into a shallow 
 natural amphitheatre about a hundred 
 yards square. 
 
 The lightest touch sufficed to pull up his jaded 
 charger, down whose roan sides the dark lines of 
 sweat were hardening in the coolth of the evening. 
 
 " Lead on to the well, sergeant," he said, and 
 stiffly dismounted. Without waiting for his servant 
 to come up, he slipped the bit and, unbuckling the 
 girth, set his saddle a few inches back and eased the 
 blanket, stroking the damp neck with that touch 
 of comradeship never missing in a cavalryman 
 who, however tired himself, thinks first of his horse. 
 Passing the reins to his man, he limped painfully 
 to the well in the farthest corner of this treeless 
 oasis from which the convoy was entering. 
 
 Blessed is he who invented ideals. And one is 
 bound to admit that generations of artists have 
 done their best to fix in our imagination the picture 
 of a cavalry soldier spending a flashing and glorious 
 life, dashing about like a bespangled meteor, whilst 
 his comrade of the infantry develops corns and bent 
 shoulders, plodding along on his own stumps. 
 
 And the reality? Not only has the mounted 
 soldier to drill and act as infantry in addition to 
 learning his cavalry work, but the "cavalry advance" 
 beloved of the news sheets includes a proportion of 
 ''leading" that is as surprising to the layman as 
 it is necessary to the horse when it is remembered 
 i88
 
 Betdah 
 
 what, in addition to his rider, he has to carry. In 
 a land where remounts are only obtained with 
 extreme difficulty, a trek of any distance under a 
 commander who understands horse management 
 must have its quota of marching on foot — unless, 
 indeed, he wish to finish altogether on foot. 
 
 The scouts had gradually drawn in, and at the 
 well-side the advanced party had already set the 
 portable trough, which, with dilapidated canvas 
 buckets, they were slowing filling. 
 
 "Drawing all right?" asked the lieutenant, ap- 
 proaching the group. " Yes, sir, they do seem to 
 have left us a foot or two this time," answered the 
 corporal in charge. " Good. But take care not to 
 get too close to the edge, these wells sometimes cave 
 in like a piece of cake," added the careful lieutenant. 
 
 Tilting back his dusty helmet, the officer scratched 
 a scrubby ten days' beard and turned for a moment 
 to watch the convoy wagons, jerkily and with shrill 
 squeakings, bump into the halting-place. 
 
 Sunk some feet below the flat of the desert, the 
 spot seemed to have been designed for their pur- 
 pose. On every side stretched miles of sand and 
 rock, with infrequent patches of camel scrub and 
 sparse undergrowth on which the scraggy Bedouin 
 flocks eked out their precarious existence. 
 
 Dimly to the right flank in the rapidly approach- 
 ing darkness could be seen the hummocky sand- 
 hills. Somewhere beyond these lay the sea, while 
 to the other flank and in front and behind stood 
 endless chains of hills, the more distant of which 
 were turned to purple by the red globe of the sun, 
 
 189
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 just disappearing on their line of march. Already 
 shadows were stretching long and blue behind them, 
 while the cool of the sundown breeze brought relief 
 to the hot and tired men and horses — welcome for the 
 moment, although heralding the savage cold of the 
 desert night. 
 
 They were the tail of a large convoy, which the 
 officer commanding had detached to come on as 
 fast as they could after him, having suffered more 
 than usual from the inevitable delays caused by 
 broken axles, foundered animals and the countless 
 minor troubles attendant on a desert march against 
 time along an uneven caravan track. "The Derelicts," 
 as, army-like, they had been immediately christened^ 
 had gone through what, although perhaps not quite 
 justifying our be-whiskered lieutenant's asseveration 
 that " it put Xenophon and Sherman out to five stone 
 seven," had been a sufficiently severe trial. 
 
 Passing through the broken country they had now 
 happily left behind them, the barely sufficing escort 
 of two troops had undergone no lack of attention 
 from the marauding Bedouin, who had looked and 
 longed, but feared to break his teeth on the main 
 body ahead. 
 
 Although they had had no actual casualties, the 
 incessant strain of the tip-and-run Arab guerrilla 
 tactics, with the difficulty and danger of pursuit, 
 added to the fatigue of each man and horse doing 
 the work of two under a blazing sun, was rapidly 
 wearing out both. It was with genuine relief that 
 the captain in charge of the little outfit reflected that 
 with luck he should next day manage the twenty- 
 190
 
 Beulah 
 
 five miles that still lay between them and their 
 destination. 
 
 While the horses were watering, the pickets were 
 swiftly placed before the gathering darkness made 
 it impossible for them to take their bearings, and the 
 hard-wrought troopers wearily set the horse lines. 
 Nor is this the easy few-minutes process of driving 
 a peg into pleasantly yielding turf and linking up. 
 In the desert, sacks have to be filled and sunk deep 
 in the sand. Round each is slipped a looped rope. 
 That achieved, the worst is over. And it is an 
 achievement, for when, as an Irishman might say, 
 the sand is rock, the labour may be imagined, and 
 the contrast between cavalry and infantry again 
 suggests itself Just as the latter whole-heartedly 
 envies the former when he sees him gaily gallop 
 past, the mounted man never so enthusiastically 
 wishes he were a footslogger as when, at the end of 
 a tiring day, he is faced with the task of getting his 
 horse watered and picketed, rough-groomed and fed, 
 ere he can think of doing anything for himself. 
 
 The futility of grousing is soon realised on active 
 service, and after a welcome and well-earned tot of 
 rum, fires, built with pieces of driftwood, carefully 
 scavenged on the march, were going, and they settled 
 cheerily enough to their filling if monotonous meal 
 of fried bully, biscuits and tea. 
 
 The horses were placed on three sides of the centre 
 of the square, with the closely drawn wagons forming 
 the fourth. In the lee of one of these the captain 
 and his two lieutenants discussed the same frugal 
 meal round their own fireside. But there was no 
 
 191
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 dallying — no picturesque camp-fire yarns. For one 
 reason, the sickly fire showed signs of expiring, and 
 for another and more vital, the captain, having 
 brought his crush within sight of safety, was taking 
 no chances. Well he knew that it is just on the 
 post that the race is so often lost. 
 
 The darkness of the night had now fallen and 
 save for the feeble light of the myriad stars it was 
 as black as the inside of a tunnel. 
 
 Pipes alight, the trio went a round of the little 
 camp and in turn visited the pickets set at the four 
 corners. Pulling up at the end of the wagons, the 
 captain turned to his tried and trusty subordinates 
 and said : " Now I'm going to turn in under this 
 limber. You, Mike, had better doss down just below 
 that right-hand picket — let them know you're there. 
 You, Archie, do the same under the one in the 
 opposite corner. Sleep light, and don't worry if you 
 miss a little: you can trust me to see that we all 
 get our fair share to-morrow. Good-night." And 
 the three parted. 
 
 Collecting his servant with his valise and riding- 
 cloak, he himself carrying two spades. Lieutenant 
 Michael O'Lane made for his corner. Without a 
 word except, " Here, I think," from the officer when 
 he stopped, the pair set about digging a hole and 
 banking up the sides in a way that showed it was 
 by now a well-practised performance. Having got 
 it finished to his satisfaction and his sleeping-bag 
 stretched, the lieutenant dismissed his man and 
 clambered up to the picket, which could be dimly 
 seen on the higher ground above. Exchanging a 
 192
 
 Beulah 
 
 few words, he stepped down and stood for a moment 
 at the head of his " bed." 
 
 Already all noise and movement had died away, 
 and, broken only by the occasional snort of a horse, 
 the silence of the camp was as complete as the desert 
 outside. 
 
 Then realising that at last his time was, in a 
 sense, his own, he sat down on the edge of what he 
 facetiously called his grave. Unlacing one riding- 
 boot, he tenderly drew it off, then switching on an 
 electric torch, he pulled off his sock and with anxious 
 care bent down to unbandage and examine a raw 
 sore on his heel. Fumbling in his valise, he produced 
 a tin of ointment and a fresh bandage. His surgery 
 over, he slipped on the cold, damp sock and shed his 
 other boot. Becoming aware that the warmth 
 brought on by the exertion of digging was fast 
 leaving him, he hastily made a pillow with his boots 
 and various odds and ends in his valise top. 
 Hurriedly spreading his cloak, he snuggled into 
 his bag and, pulling the ends right over his head, 
 
 dropped asleep. 
 
 . • • • • • 
 
 Something touched his foot. 
 
 On the instant he was wide awake. Clearing his 
 head, he placed his hands on the ground and in one 
 movement jerked back and sat up, his right hand 
 instinctively closing on his revolver. Although it 
 seemed but a moment since he fell asleep, a glance 
 at his luminous watch dial showed the hands at four 
 o'clock. 
 
 "It's me, sir," came a husky whisper from the 
 
 N 193
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 vague figure standing over him. " Right, Gregory," 
 answered the officer, recognising the voice of one of 
 the picket. "What's up?" 
 
 " Something moving on our front, sir." 
 " Hell ! " came the simple and direct rejoinder. 
 " Wait till I get my feet in," and again the stifled 
 word was heard as the injured heel was rammed with 
 too great haste into his boot. Buckling his belt and 
 pulling on his cloak as he moved, the lieutenant and 
 the trooper climbed cautiously up the slope. 
 
 " See anything ? " he queried on reaching the picket. 
 " Gregory says 'e did, sir, and I did think I 'eard 
 summat move — there it goes again, sir ! " and un- 
 mistakably there came a faint clink, but where or 
 how far away, the straining listeners peering into the 
 darkness could not determine. 
 
 Turning to the nearest man, the lieutenant said : 
 " Go down quietly, quietly^ remember, and waken 
 Captain Rhodes. Tell him what it is and that I'm 
 here, then get across to Mr Strayne in the far corner 
 and waken him. If Captain Rhodes gives you no 
 orders, come back here." 
 
 To anyone in the open, listening in darkness in 
 expectation of hearing something, the night is full 
 of noises, but if crowded experiences count for any- 
 thing, Lieutenant O'Lane was no novice. Checking 
 whispers of " What's that, sir ?" he concentrated his 
 mind. Yes, there it was once more — louder and 
 nearer. Peering into the gloom till his eyes ached 
 and filled with unwelcome tears, he passed an evil- 
 smelling handkerchief over them and stared again. 
 " My God, yes," he muttered, something was moving, 
 194
 
 Beulah 
 
 and towards them, or at least he fancied so. Filh'ng 
 his lungs, the lieutenant himself challenged. 
 
 " Halt ! Who goes there ? " and the noise stopped 
 for an appreciable moment, then recommenced. 
 
 No waiting now. " Fire ! " he snapped, and the 
 three rifles rang out. A coughing grunt was heard, 
 followed by a scrambling rush across and to their left. 
 
 "Dammit, they must be mounted," said the officer 
 as the clattering stones rang out in the stillness. 
 
 Puk-uk-uk-uk ! went the rifles of the next picket, 
 and the noise passed on and died away into the night. 
 
 No more sleep now for the tired troopers. 
 
 On receiving his subaltern's message almost at the 
 same moment as he heard the challenge and firing, 
 the captain hurried as fast as the darkness would 
 allow up amongst the already moving men. " Fix 
 bayonets and line the bank facing you ! " he cried. 
 Grabbing a sergeant, he sent him with a message to 
 the other lieutenant to guard the farther sides of the 
 camp, then hustled what men he could hastily collect 
 up the rising ground where the firing had taken place. 
 Feeling his way along underneath the ridge, he ran 
 into O'Lane coming towards him. Quickly that 
 officer reported what he had seen and heard. 
 
 "Mounted, you think? Good heavens!" the 
 captain almost shouted, "it maybe someone back 
 from the main body ! " 
 
 " Impossible," said the lieutenant, " They weren't 
 shod feet." 
 
 "Well, take charge here while I go round. It may 
 be a feint on this side and the real attack on a flank 
 or our rear." 
 
 195
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Anxiously the troopers, digging holes with the 
 toes of their boots to give their feet a purchase, 
 gazed over the top of the ridge into nothingness. 
 Feverishly the captain stumbled in the darkness 
 from one side of the camp to the other. No further 
 rush was attempted. 
 
 From the east the pale saffron light suddenly 
 broke the darkness. Far away the distant hills rose 
 soft and vague out of the early dawn and the shiver- 
 ing, waiting men turned their eyes across their front 
 with renewed expectancy. 
 
 Gradually, in tense silence, the light spread. 
 
 " Look, sir, look ! They've left one dead 'un 
 behind them anyways," said a trooper, pointing, and 
 in the acid morning light a dusky grey figure could 
 be dimly seen some fifty yards out. 
 
 "Just wait a few minutes, Mike," said the captain, 
 "then take four men and have a look-see. We'll 
 cover you and if you're fired on — drop." 
 
 Shedding his cloak and drawing his revolver, 
 O'Lane clambered over the ridge and rose to his 
 feet. Followed by his men, he cautiously picked his 
 way towards the motionless figure, warily glancing 
 to right and left. 
 
 " Good Lord ! Oh, hang it, it couldn't be ! " he 
 ejaculated, but unmistakably it was. " Heavens ! 
 What luck ! I'll never hear the end of it," and with 
 a whispered curse he stopped, wheeled round and 
 made for the camp. 
 
 The men stood irresolute. Then one hungry 
 soul said: "Shan't we bring it in, sir? Be a nice 
 change from the bully beef." 
 196
 
 Beulah 
 
 "Oh, do what you damwell like with it," barked 
 the unhappy Mike, and in came the reconnoitring 
 party, one staggering with a dead sheep across his 
 shoulders, while from end to end the camp rang with 
 shouts of uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 Even to-day to mention mutton to O'Lane is to 
 take a risk. 
 
 197
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 Oh, big was the bosom of brave Alum Bey. 
 
 Bab Ballads. 
 
 SINCE day broke to their left front the going 
 had become perceptibly firmer and the sight 
 of real earth and green stuff once more was 
 welcome alike to men and horses whose lot had, 
 for weeks past, been by no means cast in pleasant 
 places. Indeed the change to verdant land from the 
 horrid monotony of the merdant desert was like a 
 breath from the home counties. 
 
 Although there was no sign of actual cultivation, 
 the undulating plain stretching ahead of the score or 
 so of mounted men was plenteously splashed with 
 green undergrowth, while here and there showed 
 the richer colour of the dark foliage of fig and olive 
 trees. 
 
 Not far distant the gently rising ground was 
 merged in a tangle of foot-hills beyond which the 
 stark and rugged mountains, still grey-white and 
 mysterious in the cool dawn, seemed to stand 
 impassable. 
 
 Sent ahead, while the morning was still dark, by 
 an energetic commander to reconnoitre the approach 
 to the defile which was supposed to lead through the 
 mountains, the subaltern in charge of the party had 
 been saddled with a coloured gentleman, half guide, 
 half interpreter, and until that morning wholly a 
 voluble nuisance. 
 
 Dumped on them at the last minute as "the best 
 obtainable," they had perforce to take him on trust. 
 His bearing was far from martial, but he wore his 
 hybrid kharki uniform with an air that he no doubt 
 198
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 felt harmonised well with the ribbon for the most 
 recent Soudan campaign with which it was adorned. 
 What part he took in that show never precisely 
 transpired, but to anyone who was foolish enough to 
 listen he would wax eloquent with tales that made 
 Bill Adams and Waterloo seem like a wayside scuffle. 
 
 His tribe or nationality defied conjecture, although 
 a strong negroid cast and "kink" entirely justified 
 his being christened " Uncle Tom." A professing 
 Copt, his truculent behaviour when interrogating 
 various captured Arabs, whom he invariably referred 
 to as "dose dam natives," was an instructive object 
 lesson of the brotherly love existing in the heart of 
 the Eastern Christian for the Moslem. 
 
 But that was in the bustling safety of the main 
 body. 
 
 When Uncle Tom was informed that he would 
 accompany this small, unsupported party his stock of 
 valour fell with a thud. He was " seek." " I catch- 
 ing much pain be'ind wid de saddle," he wailed, and 
 it was only with difficulty, culminating in a very 
 pointed threat, that he was mounted and packed off. 
 
 As the light spread and objects became clearer, 
 the officer signalled a halt. For a moment he gazed 
 round, absorbing the pleasant scene. " How like a 
 stage setting," he thought, and for a few brief seconds 
 memories of home and theatres flitted through his 
 mind. But there was no time for retrospection, 
 pleasant or otherwise, and, turning in his saddle, he 
 called out six of his men. 
 
 Months of this work made his instructions laconic 
 and to the point. 
 
 199
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 " Now you know exactly what I want you to do. 
 Centre pair straight ahead for that farthest ridge — 
 make it good. You others about half-a-mile on 
 either side and make good the highest points there 
 of the same ridge. I think," and here he pointed, 
 "there and there. All understand?" "Yessir," 
 came the chorus. " Well, off you go," and the 
 three pairs of troopers cantered away, diverging as 
 they advanced, the horses snatching at their bits 
 and plainly revelling in the novelty of the good 
 going. 
 
 For some time the lieutenant earnestly scanned 
 the hills through his glasses, then, taking out his 
 notebook, he started to sketch rapidly. 
 
 Now Uncle Tom had not watched military opera- 
 tions without learning something and seeing the 
 notebook he pressed forward. 
 
 " You sending a message, sare, I taking him back. 
 Dis dam fast horse, sare." 
 
 " Sorry to disappoint you, Uncle," said the lieuten- 
 ant good-humouredly, "but you can't leave us yet, 
 and don't interrupt when I'm working." 
 
 Snapping up his book, he swung an arm and the 
 party trotted forward. 
 
 Meantime the scouts had reached their points. 
 In the clear morning air, at the foot of each rise 
 could be seen one mounted man holding the horse 
 of his companion, who, rifle in hand, was carefully 
 making his way up the ridge. After a careful scrutiny 
 each in turn signalled" All clear "to the again halted 
 troop. 
 
 Satisfied so far, the officer once more swung his 
 200
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 arm, this time full circle, and they galloped smartly 
 forward towards the centre pair of scouts. Leaving 
 his men still mounted on the level, he slipped off 
 his horse and ran up to the corporal lying prone on 
 the top of the rise. 
 
 "Seen anything, Stubbs?" 
 
 " Not a move, sir, anywhere. Hills don't look so 
 bad neither when you're near 'em, sir." 
 
 " M'yes. Now I want you, Stubbs, to mount and 
 go straight ahead, just trot, for the mouth of the 
 defile. When you get pretty well forward, stop 
 and peer about, then wheel round as if you had 
 suddenly spotted something and come hell-for- 
 leather back. Not straight, though : we don't want 
 any stray bullets here. Come in about a hundred 
 yards along from this — we'll cover you. See what 
 I'm after ? " 
 
 " Quite, sir," and without wasting a moment the 
 corporal ran down to his horse and mounted. 
 
 A signal from the officer and four men tumbled 
 up the slope and lay down at intervals below the 
 crest. 
 
 Anxiously the lieutenant peered through his 
 glasses : nobly the valiant Stubbs acted, or per- 
 haps overacted, his part. For your soldier dearly 
 loves a bit of show work, and what better audience 
 than a gallery of his pals ? 
 
 In due course he raced back, but no shots broke 
 into the rhythm of the hoof beats. 
 
 " Seems all right, sergeant," remarked the officer, 
 " but I've a nasty feeling that we're being watched. 
 Imagination, I suppose, or liver. Anyhow, I'll take 
 
 201
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 two men and the guide and have a look myself. 
 Link the horses and bring everyone up here except 
 one man, and don't let any of them show themselves 
 more than they can help. Keep your glasses busy, 
 and cover us back if anything happens. If there is 
 any firing I want you above all to try to spot where 
 it comes from." 
 
 On hearing himself mentioned, Uncle Tom started 
 to give tongue. 
 
 " Now look here, you coffee-coloured nuisance," 
 said the lieutenant, " I didn't ask for you, but see- 
 ing you are here, you will dam well do your work 
 — or . . ." And he tapped his revolver significantly. 
 
 Grey with fear and gulping down sobs — for your 
 half-bred Oriental weeps as readily as a child and 
 for much less — the unhappy coon trailed down to 
 the horses. 
 
 " Sare," he bleated, with a hand on the reins, but he 
 got no further. Turning on him, the now thoroughly 
 annoyed officer said : " Another word and I'll shoot 
 you now." Uncle Tom clambered reluctantly on his 
 horse. 
 
 Topping the rise, the lieutenant and his attendant 
 guide trotted down the far side and out into the open. 
 With the troopers some twenty yards on each hand 
 they moved on towards the hills. 
 
 Still nothing happened, and still the lieutenant 
 vainly tried to shake off the feeling of eyes unseen 
 that so often besets soldiers in unknown country. 
 
 Puk-whieow ! went a rifle, followed by others in 
 rapid succession, and, unhit, the quartet spun round 
 — none quicker than Uncle Tom. 
 
 202
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 " Left — go left ! " shouted the officer, swinging 
 them out of the line of fire of their troop, whose rifles 
 were now crackling briskly in reply. 
 
 The whimpering bullets whistled round them as 
 they raced for the ridge, when down on his nose went 
 the guide's horse, shooting his rider from his loose 
 seat yards away. A plunge forward and the good 
 horse rolled over dead. Instantly the lieutenant 
 reined up beside Uncle Tom's prone figure. "Jump! 
 Jump up behind me ! " he yelled, but the hero of the 
 Soudan only rose to his knees and with clucking 
 noises feebly waggled his hands. 
 
 Certain he was unwounded, the exasperated officer 
 sprang off and, jerking him to his feet, heaved him 
 bodily across his charger. Realising the impossibility 
 of mounting with such an incubus, and having no 
 great distance to cover, he ran beside his horse, reins 
 in one hand and steadying his Old Man of the Sea 
 with the other. 
 
 The prompt action of the sergeant having sup- 
 pressed the enemy fire, he walked his horse over the 
 slope and on the other side decanted the groaning 
 guide. A strong desire to relieve his feelings by 
 heartily kicking him was nobly smothered, and calling 
 a trooper to take his horse, the lieutenant turned 
 interrogatively to his sergeant. 
 
 " Not more than three or four at the outside, sir — I 
 can show you the spot," and, lying down together^ 
 they brought their glasses to bear. 
 
 Without changing his position or lowering his 
 glasses, the lieutenant said : " Now listen. It's no 
 use sending a message back yet : we've got nothing 
 
 203
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 worth sending. If, as you think, there are only three 
 or four, we must try to snaffle them. Prisoners at 
 this point would be worth a lot to the brigadier. 
 They can't move far without you seeing them and 
 they won't come this way, so I'll leave you four men. 
 Show a head occasionally and keep up a slack fire to 
 hold them. I'll take the rest as far as where those 
 two are on our left. We will leave the horses there 
 and work round to cut them off: we should manage 
 to get cover all the way. I don't think they will 
 hear our horses, but when we start, give them some 
 ' rapid ' till you see us dismount. Don't worry about 
 that imbecile," he added, jerking his head at Uncle 
 Tom, who, at the foot of the slope, was engrossed in 
 a paroxysm of sickness. 
 
 Getting his men together, the party cantered off 
 under the lee of the ridge to where the two left- 
 flank scouts were posted. Briefly explaining, the 
 lieutenant dismounted his men and left one on top 
 and two with the horses below. Fixing bayonets, 
 with the remainder he passed on at the double, still 
 bearing to the left. 
 
 For full five minutes they plodded on, then, hearing 
 sounds of bellows to mend behind him, and guessing 
 that they had come far enough, he held up a hand, 
 and, crawling to the top of a hillock, cautiously 
 peered over. 
 
 Disappointment ! His position was right but the 
 intervening hummocks cut off any view. There was 
 nothing for it but to press on, this time circling in 
 towards the enemy. 
 
 Moving half of his men at a time, the rear covering 
 204
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 those who crossed each dip, a sweating fifteen 
 minutes brought them, the lieutenant a good first, 
 to the foot of a rise which his bump of locaHty told 
 him ought to open up the enemy's rear. 
 
 Discarding for a moment his helmet — that most 
 useless of all headgear for dismounted work, he crept 
 slowly forward and up and over the top he slowly 
 craned his neck. 
 
 Not fifty yards away lay three Turkish Irregulars, 
 two placidly smoking, while the third peered away 
 from them to where the sergeant and his little party 
 still kept up their desultory fire. 
 
 Leaving two men to guard against any possible, 
 though unlikely, surprise from his rear, the officer 
 slipped back and whispered his orders. Opening 
 out, the men crawled up in line. 
 
 Resting a moment to let them get their wind, he 
 blew a loud blast on his whistle to warn his sergeant. 
 Simultaneously the troopers jumped to their feet and 
 covered the amazed Turks. 
 
 There is at least this to be said for Mohammedan- 
 ism. It enables a man, especially a soldier, to accept 
 the inevitable with an easy conscience. " It was 
 written : Kismet," and the responsibility passes to 
 another hand. 
 
 The surprise was complete and, laying down their 
 rifles, the trio allowed themselves to be disarmed 
 without demur. 
 
 Swiftly the officer got his men together and 
 hurried across, the shuffling prisoners making 
 wonderfully good time in their midst. Swiftly, too, 
 the sergeant, grasping the situation, rallied the 
 
 205
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 remainder of the troop and brought up the horses, 
 not forgetting to send a man for the saddle and 
 bridle off the dead horse. 
 
 An attempt to get the almost paralysed guide to 
 interrogate the prisoners having failed utterly, the 
 lieutenant decided to get back without delay to the 
 column. But elated as he had every reason to be 
 with his capture, he missed no precaution. After 
 months of actual warfare, there was little he had to 
 learn in the apparently simple art of taking care, 
 that to some only comes after bitter experience. 
 
 So, posting a strong rear-guard, they trotted off 
 with the wretched Uncle Tom and the prisoners. 
 Safely in the open, they halted, and, dispatching a 
 galloper with a message, the lieutenant proceeded 
 slowly back to the main body. 
 
 Heartily thankful to see what he devoutly hoped 
 was the last of him, the officer handed over his 
 alleged guide with the prisoners, and that night 
 Uncle Tom disappeared down the line. 
 
 The subsequent operations of the column is, as a 
 brother brush would say, another story. In these 
 our subaltern bore his share right manfully and the 
 course of time found him a convalescent from 
 wounds in Cairo. 
 
 Strolling one day in the Mouski Bazaar, some- 
 thing familiar in an importunate voice at his elbow, 
 " Want a guide, sare ? Showing you all de fine girls, 
 sare," caused him to turn. 
 
 In fine raiment and newly blocked tarbush — 
 Uncle Tom ! 
 
 But the recognition was mutual, and before he 
 206
 
 Uncle Tom 
 
 could move, the dusky fraud had vanished in a 
 labyrinth of alleys where no sensible white man 
 would dream of venturing. 
 
 They know better now, and unpreparedness was 
 no fault of the gallant men who wrought marvels of 
 improvisation in the early stages of this war, but it 
 is a safe assertion that any guiding Uncle Tom may 
 do in the future will be confined to the primrose 
 paths that tourists tread. 
 
 207
 
 Mascots 
 
 Oh, what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes. 
 
 Bab Ballads. 
 
 THE Kind Lady fluttered through the 
 hospital, the banality of her words of com- 
 fort being barely equalled by the stupidity 
 of her gifts. As she left her last group, the three 
 men in hospital blue gazed at each other helplessly. 
 " Gostrooth, Smithy," said one, " it ain't arf a strain 
 this ' Thankye kindly, mum,' business. Wot in 'ell 
 the old girl means by chuckin' mascots at us — well, 
 I'm defeated," and feebly repeating "Mascots!" he 
 lay back in his long chair and turned over in 
 his lap a furry imbecility resembling a purple 
 monkey. 
 
 " Talkin' o' mascots," began Smithy, pitching his 
 contribution beside the monkey and sucking re- 
 flectively at an empty pipe, " I never seen any good 
 come of a mascot but once. You've 'eard me talk 
 of Lieutenant Arkel. Well, 'im and another called 
 Teague come out to us just afore we went up to 
 Gallypolly dismounted. We was both on us wounded 
 up there an' when he was layin' in Cairo what time 
 the Gallypolly show was runnin' out, so to speak, I 
 was 'is batman. Lor', 'e was a bright 'un and no 
 error ! This other lieutenant and 'im shared a room 
 in the old barricks there and them two — the 'eavenly 
 twins the mess called 'em — didn't arf keep things 
 cheery. Always 'untin' in couples as you might say. 
 They'd been plantin' tea or somethink like that out 
 East, and 'ot cups o' tea they was, but always think- 
 in' about the men an' workin' up a sing-song or 
 such-like to keep 'em, 'specially the young 'uns, from 
 208
 
 Alascots 
 
 'avin' too much time on their 'ands, us bein' mostly 
 wounded convalesints an' drafts from 'ome. 
 
 " Well, the time comes when we was mostly fit for 
 duty again an' we gets our marchin' orders and orf 
 we goes to Alexandry an' lays there in camp for 
 a bit, waiting for the nex' move, an' then we lands 
 in the Western Desert. Now you boys as was in 
 France may 'ave 'ad your own special brand o' griev- 
 ance, just as we 'ad ours, so we won't start no com- 
 petition on that 'ead, but you was at least watered 
 an' fed regler. Wot we 'ad, food and clobber, was 
 what we took wiv us. When that was finished it 
 was done and that's all there was to it. Gawd, them 
 'arf-dry water-'oles in the dark ! An' the 'orses arf 
 mad over the smell of the drop there was ! ' Price- 
 less ' is wot them officer boys calls everythink nowa- 
 days an' 'priceless' was the word for our Mister 
 Arkel. Nothin' come amiss to 'im an' 'e nursed 'is 
 troop like a father. 
 
 " After we leaves the rail'ead, we treks on, 'altin' 
 an' campin' 'ere an' there, an' finally we pitches tents 
 for a bit at a place called Sidi somethink. 'Twas 
 the larst we sawr of tents, after that 'twas a case of 
 'uddlin' together in the 'orse lines and if yer didn't 
 die o' cold in the night you was lucky. 
 
 "Now we was a composite lot — three short 
 squadrons out o' the regiments of the old brigade 
 an' a troop o' New Zealand 'orse. 
 
 " We 'ad 'ad stuck on to our squadron a lieutenant 
 
 — well, never mind 'is name, call 'im Spriggs, that's 
 
 near enough. I'll lay 'e's livin' all right an' in a fat 
 
 job somewhere. Blinkin' pacifist 'e was, straight out 
 
 o 209
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 from 'ome. Fust time we 'alted after leavin' the 
 rail'ead 'e lectures 'is troop on their morils, Morils 
 in the desert ! I over'ears 'im sayin' one day to the 
 mess that we oughter 'ave sent a shipload o' grain 
 to them pore 'eathens instead o' fightin' wiv 'em. 
 When 'e saw the way them pore 'eathens left our 
 dead 'e changed 'is tune. But that come later. 
 Used to brag to 'is men about some blasted relative 
 of is in parlymint : another pro-German anti-every- 
 thing pacifist from all accounts. Gets 'isself a com- 
 mission, this one did, when 'e was fair ashamed to 
 show 'isself any longer, an' pops over to some safe 
 billet in France to carry on the good work there. 
 'E'll be callin' 'isself a colonel now, I shouldn't 
 wonder, an' collectin' medal ribbins. 
 
 " Well, the fust day we camps at this 'ere place. 
 Lieutenant Arkel 'e takes 'is troop out to patrol the 
 desert an' when 'e was about due in it was just on 
 dark, and our squadron officers was sittin' down, 
 squeezed round a box for dinner in their bit of a 
 mess tent. Me bein' told off as mess orderly that 
 day, I 'adn't gorn out wiv the troop, so was just 
 'umpin' along the five courses in one, when in walks 
 this one Spriggs, as we'll call him, 'oldin' up a dead 
 bird lookin' like a crow. 
 
 '"Thought you said as 'ow there was no bird life 
 in the desert. Major,' sez 'e, 'oldin' up the carkiss 
 proud-like. ' Look what I've bagged wiv me 
 revolver,' 'e sez. Our Major 'e looks at 'im. ' Most 
 like you shot it sittin',' sez 'e, short-like, for 'im and 
 all the rest was outer the old regiment an' didn't 
 waste much time admirin' Spriggs. 'You'd better 
 210
 
 Mascots 
 
 stuff it, if you're so dam pleased about it.' So wiv 
 that Mister Spriggs 'e sniggers and 'eaves the pore 
 thing outer the tent door an' sits in to feed. A good 
 'un at that 'e was all right, never missin' a fence. 
 Presently I 'ears the 'orses of Lieutenant Arkel's 
 troop comin' in an' passin' down to water, so I takes 
 'is whack outside to keep it 'ot for 'im, and soon 'e 
 comes up, 'is pal Teague steppin' outside to meet 'im. 
 
 " The moon was risin' and I sees the pair of 'em 
 turnin' over the dead bird an' laughin' quiet-like. 
 When they was together they was always worth 
 watchin', so I 'angs about an' listens. ' Cut over, Bill,' 
 sez Arkel to 'is pal, 'an' catch MacNab' — 'e was the 
 New Zealand's officer — ' an' tell 'im not to turn up 
 till I get in. Just give me time to see that the 
 men are gettin' their grub,' an' wiv that they splits. 
 Feelin' sure there was somethink in the wind, so to 
 speak, back I goes to the tent an' stands, modest as 
 the shrinkin' daisy, in a corner, an' soon in comes 
 Arkel. ' Eavnin', Major,' sez 'e, ' nothin' sensational, 
 will my report do in the mornin' ? ' ' Surely, surely,' 
 sez the Major. Then Arkel 'e 'as a drink an' opens 
 the ball, as you might say. 
 
 ** ' Pity about that mascot of the New Zealanders,' 
 sez 'e, passin' a wink to our Captain. ' Mascot ? ' 
 sez the Captain innercint-like. 'Yes,' sez Arkel, 
 ' some damned shopkeeper's bin an' shot their tame 
 mascot — a pet bird as they'd brought all the way 
 from Dunedin.' Wiv that the mess turns like one 
 man an' looks cold at Spriggs. ' Ho,' sez 'e, ' mascot 
 indeed, it's a desert jackdawr.' ' Dunno what you're 
 talkin' about,' sez Arkel, sittin' up straight an'lookin' 
 
 211
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 'ard at Spriggs, ' but somebody's bin an' shot the tame 
 mascot o' the New Zealanders. I 'eard the row as 
 I passed their lines. They're dancin' some sorter 
 Maori war dance an' swearin' to murder 'im as done 
 it. 'Ark ! ' sez 'e, cockin' 'is 'ead to one side, ' you can 
 'ear 'em from 'ere,' an' 'e keeps on pretendin' to listen, 
 the others, 'avin' tumbled to the fac' that there was 
 a game on, backin' 'im up proper. 
 
 " ' Rubbish,' sez Spriggs, beginnin' to look un'appy, 
 an' then the New Zealand's officer 'e pokes 'is head 
 into the tent. ' Sorry to be late, sir,' 'e begins, * but 
 I 'ave somethink serious to report — may I speak to 
 you private ? ' All this was blind hookey to the 
 Major, but 'e was a sport an' carries on as solemn as 
 a blinkin' owl. 'Not at all, MacNab,' sez 'e, "ave 
 yer dinner first, unless it's desprit.' ' Desprit enough,' 
 sez the New Zealander, ' me men's broke loose an' I 
 dunno what the consequinces is goin' to be.' ' Good 
 'eavens,' sez the Major, playing up 'andsome, ' is that 
 the row we 'eard ? ' * It must 'ave been," sez MacNab. 
 ' I can't tell you 'ow sorry I am, but you know 'ow 
 it is wiv us out there.' ' Indeed I do,' sez the Major, 
 emphatic-like, though 'eavin knows what 'e did 
 know, 'but what is it all about?' 'Well, sir,' goes 
 on this bonnie Scotsman from the Antipoads, ' I 
 'ardly like to say it, but me troop's mascot, a tame 
 Hua bird, 'as bin shot, an' they do say it's one of 
 your officers as done it.' ' Good Gord ! ' sez the 
 Major, tryin' 'is best to look 'orrified, an' turnin' to 
 Spriggs, 'oo was the colour of a duck's egg. ' I 
 assure you, sir,' sez 'e, gettin' up, ' I 'ad no idear — I 
 thought it was just a common desert jackdawr. I'll 
 
 212
 
 Alascots 
 
 show you, sir.' Out 'e goes, me 'oldin' up the tent 
 flap. Back 'e comes. 'It's gorn,' sez 'e, speaking 
 very quiet. ' Gorn ! ' sez Arkel, lookin' up from 'is 
 stokin', ' I should think it must be. When I passed 
 their lines they 'ad it stuck up on a pole, dancin' 
 round it wiv their stickers in their 'ands, chantin' 
 out the death song.' 
 
 '" I'm afraid,' goes on the Major, ' you can't look 
 to us to protect you, Spriggs, you'll have to see this 
 out alone.' Wiv that Spriggs 'e gives a gulp an' sez, 
 * I'll go an' face 'em now, sir,' an' out 'e goes. 
 
 " When 'e clears, one o' the young loots begins 
 to splutter, but the Major drops on 'im, then 'e turns 
 to the others. ' What the devil's all this — are you 
 pulling Spriggs' leg?' 'Yes, sir,' answers Arkel; 
 ' do let us carry it on.' But the Major wouldn't 'ave 
 it. ' No,' sez 'e, ' I'm older than you, and me own 
 experience of practical jokes is that if they're carried 
 too far they're apt to get dangerous — you've 'ad 
 your fun, let it rest' 
 
 " But our Lieutenant Arkel wasn't done. ' May I 
 send Smith wiv a message?' 'e asks. ' Certaingly,' 
 sez the Major. 'But where are you goin' ter find 'im?' 
 ' Oh, I think I can guess,' replies Arkel, an' wiv that 
 'e turns to me. 'Go to our tent' — the officers was 
 then sharin' an LP. — 'and if Mr Spriggs is there, 
 give 'im the Major's compliments and tell 'im 'is 
 dinner's gettin' cold.' At this makin' free wiv 'is 
 name, as it were, I thought the Major was goin' to 
 give tongue, so out I quickly 'ops an' cuts across, 
 an' sure enough, there was this one Spriggs, sittin' 
 in the tent wiv a candle beside 'im, lookin' as if 'e 
 
 213
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 'ad 'ad a norrible nightmare, cleanin' 'is revolver ! 
 When I come in, 'e shoves it under 'is blanket. 
 * Smith,' sez 'e sweet-like, when I 'ad given me 
 message, 'just slip over to the New Zealand lines 
 an' see 'ow things are,' and 'e brings out 'is purse — 
 yes, that's the kind 'e was — kep' 'is bloomin' brass in 
 a purse wiv a strap to it. Well, 'e passes over a 
 twenty piastre bit, so out I goes, lights a fag and 
 'angs round a bit, then I calls out Mister Arkel an' 
 tells 'im, which was what 'e wanted. ' Go back,' sez 
 'e, ' an' tell 'im yer can't 'ear nothin' and that the 
 Major's waitin' on 'im.' Which I does, an' this 'ere 
 Spriggs 'e looks mighty relieved an' steps out smart, 
 me follerin' 'ard after 'im. Jus' as we reaches the 
 mess tent, blimey if ole Cox, 'oo I was supposed to 
 be 'elpin', didn't catch sight o' me an' lets fly at me 
 somethink 'orrid for leavin' 'im, so I was too late to 
 'ear what 'appened when this crow-shootin' sports- 
 man gets in, but the yells of laughin' that went on 
 told its own tale, so to speak, an' that's the only 
 time as I ever knew of any good come of a mascot." 
 
 " An' 'ow was that ? " asked one of his listeners. 
 
 " 'Ow ? Why, after our first big scrap, when we 
 had to go back to the base to refit, this one 'oom I 
 call Spriggs, and 'oo'd 'ad the life chipped outer 'im 
 over the 'ead of it, asks to get back to 'is own lot, 
 an' we was rid of 'im — that's 'ow," replied Smithy. 
 
 214
 
 Tou jours Perdrix 
 
 Of rabbits young and rabbits old, 
 Rabbits hot and rabbits cold, 
 Rabbits tender, rabbits tough, 
 We thank thee, Lord — we've had enough. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 JUST as there be those of whom sailors say that 
 if they would go to sea for pleasure they would 
 go to hell for fun, so there be those who, because 
 of what some unknown philosopher has called "the 
 flattery of importance," will fill any office so long as 
 the limelight plays and they are lifted out of their 
 normal obscurity. During the war, from the ranks 
 of such were recruited many of our mess presidents. 
 
 But not of these was Lieutenant Harry Radley. 
 So when one blazing Egyptian afternoon he entered 
 the anteroom in search of a comfortable chair in 
 which to drowse ere he came on duty, and found the 
 newly-come-out major ("Temporary Lieut.-Colonel"), 
 selected to command the refitting regiment, in 
 conversation with his own squadron leader on the 
 subject of messes, he swiftly shed his idea of sleep. 
 Having come in too far to retreat without attracting 
 that attention which he was above all things anxious 
 to avoid, he quietly seated himself as unobtrusively 
 as possible and thought hard. Outwardly indifferent 
 his brain raced as he picked up and affected to read 
 an ancient periodical. Nor did such fragments of 
 the conversation as reached him tend to relieve his 
 apprehension. More then once his major looked 
 approvingly in his direction as the indaba pro- 
 gressed. Clearly his number was in the frame, but 
 how to avoid his fate — obviously to be inflicted with 
 
 215
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 the hateful job of running the mess — was still beyond 
 the range of his imagination. 
 
 To run a mess at home in peace-time is one thing, 
 for those who like it. To do so on the fringe of 
 civilisation is quite another, especially for those who 
 don't, and as Radley was by nature what our allies 
 call a " nUenficheistel^ his apprehension was acute. 
 Then he saw Meredith and his chance simultaneously. 
 Have you, dear reader, ever been overreached and 
 then laughed at? If so, you will understand how 
 Radley felt, for he had been stuck by Meredith with 
 an unwarranted polo pony and — found out later why 
 there was no warranty. Now the anteroom had 
 two doors, so when Meredith entered, Radley, 
 picking up and laying down papers, quietly roamed 
 round till he reached the other door and gently 
 passed out. Swiftly he grabbed his belt and dis- 
 appeared. Great was his joy and satisfaction when 
 he found Meredith some hours later, cursing his luck 
 at having been saddled with the job of running the 
 mess with the regiment on the point of moving. 
 " Yes," said Radley, " I thought I had arranged it for 
 you." " You ! " ejaculated Meredith. " What on earth 
 had you to do with it?" "Just this," explained 
 Radley: "I saw Jolly Jack and Happy" — for even 
 thus do irreverent juniors refer to their senior officers 
 — "discussing this mess business just before you 
 came in — Happy had got his nasty eye on me and 
 my fate was almost sealed when you rolled up. I 
 promptly faded away and you, my lad, all un- 
 beknownst, became my understudy. Do you 
 remember that pony you sold me ? " And smiling 
 2i6
 
 Toujours Perdrix 
 
 sweetly, Radley clapped his hands for a safragi and 
 ordered a peg to celebrate his escape. 
 
 Make no mistake about it, no much-trumpeted 
 idealistic League of Nations is in the least necessary 
 to stop war for ever, for the simple reason that as 
 long as paper holds ink and the memory of man 
 remains to him never again will any nation desire 
 war. The effort is too great, and harnessed, sweated, 
 harassed peoples have long since had it borne in on 
 them that nothing on earth is worth it. Men do not, 
 generally speaking, object to fighting per se. Most 
 of us will accept that risk willingly, some — the 
 younger ones — even cheerfully. But the recollection 
 of organising the fight, transporting the combatants 
 — and non-combatants — and, above all, sustaining 
 them while there, will leave such an everlasting mark 
 that the next man who suggests war as a remedy for 
 anything will lose his job before he can turn round, 
 if indeed he is not lynched out of hand, and should 
 any nation or people ever attempt to start a war, 
 unless internecine, the whole universe, headed by all 
 surviving ex-mess presidents, will fall on them with 
 a howl of execration and trample them flat. 
 
 When the regiment moved out to Mena to camp 
 below the pyramids, these and similar thoughts were 
 the constant companions of poor Meredith. A 
 highly developed faculty for doing the wrong thing 
 — unless, Radley would have reminded you, in a 
 horse deal — had led him into the hands of a whity- 
 brown Syrian " mess contractor " whose English 
 vocabulary was mostly blasphemous swear words 
 picked up on the quay at Malta and eked out with 
 
 217
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 a fascinating jumble of broken French and Italian. 
 Not that Meredith felt the fascination in the least. 
 The Syrian gentleman's methods of producing food 
 and drink were delightfully simple — he merely 
 beamed on Meredith and said " Yessare " to every- 
 thing, and did nothing unless to explain the diffi- 
 culties of getting things out from Cairo. 
 
 Meal-time in the mess tent was one prolonged 
 attack on the miserable Meredith, and when Radley, 
 free for an afternoon's polo, trotting off with the 
 others on the donkeys that took them from camp to 
 the Mena terminus, daily saw Meredith, whose mess 
 cares had completely blue-pencilled his polo, in 
 furious altercation with his "mess contractor," he felt 
 that he had more than squared the account. Once 
 when passing he gaily waved his hand to Meredith, 
 then engaged in a linguistic wrestle with his Syrian 
 incubus on the question of the non-appearance of 
 some tinned herrings, and it is sad to have to relate 
 that that long-suffering mortal lost his self-control 
 and bestowed such a kick on the alien that he bolted 
 and was not seen again for two days — days when the 
 mess had to seek the hospitality of their neighbours. 
 Only his unpaid bills brought the terrified polyglot 
 back, and the old wrangle continued in the half- 
 starved mess, while one by one they dropped off to 
 swell the receipts at Shepheard's. 
 
 That the Syrian would have eventually been slain 
 by Meredith is hardly an overstatement, when merci- 
 fully the regiment was again moved, this time to 
 Alexandria en route for the Western Desert. On 
 hearing the news Meredith raised a psean of thanks- 
 
 2i8
 
 Toujours Pcrdrix 
 
 giving, knowing that it spelt bully and biscuit for 
 officer and man alike. But he had reckoned without 
 his indefatigable O.C. That gentleman had ideas 
 of his own about food and straightway explained 
 to Meredith that he was to arrange for boxes of 
 "comforts " to be sent on at regular intervals to the 
 railhead, whence they would be collected and brought 
 up, and for the doing of which he, Meredith, would 
 be responsible, finishing up with some pointed 
 remarks about the way the mess had been run in the 
 past. 
 
 Various of our superior Windy Murphys have 
 expended much time endeavouring to give us an 
 analysis of the soldier's mind. Having no experience 
 themselves, they have to fall back, as their lucubra- 
 tions show, on their imagination, based on the soul 
 searchings of advanced young men who, anxious to 
 impress the masters at whose feet they obsequi- 
 ously squat, evolve weird and wonderful psychological 
 fire-works. 
 
 As a matter of plain truth, the soldier's mind 
 revolves round the prospects of sleep, drink and 
 food and — when he has leisure — some woman : wife, 
 sweetheart or whatnot, as a distinguished comedian 
 once expressed it. 
 
 So when you are asked to visualise a solitary 
 horseman cantering o'er the plain, the said plain 
 being the accursed merdant desert, while the moment 
 would be opportune to indulge in the Windy Murphy 
 analytical performance, the result would be dis- 
 appointing, for our horseman was the wretched 
 Meredith thinking of food, food, food. 
 
 219
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Before leaving Alexandria he had remembered 
 a friendly R.T.O., one Barton, to whom he confided 
 his woes, some cheques and list of the "comforts" 
 to be sent on weekly to the railhead, and priding 
 himself on his organising faculties he had entrained 
 with a comparatively light heart. 
 
 Alas for human hopes ! Days, weeks passed with- 
 out a sign, and having recklessly squandered their 
 first hamper and found nothing following, the Mess 
 was nearly homicidal. Farther and farther along 
 the African coast they trekked. Indignant and 
 latterly almost frantic telegrams sent back by odd 
 armoured cars brought no response, for how could 
 Meredith know that Barton's wife had arrived out 
 simultaneously with the regiment's departure and 
 that the reunited pair, blissfully unconscious of the 
 woes of Meredith and his brethren, were spending 
 a perfectly delightful time at Helouan, while his 
 wailing wires were being collected at the base and 
 neatly stacked in the slide marked " for attention " 
 by Barton's assistant, a conscientious N.C.O. who 
 had been too long in the army to interfere in any- 
 thing that did not concern him. 
 
 Nor was there any escape from, nor reply to, the 
 bitter complaints of his fellow-sufferers, now sunk to 
 a sullen but never-ending growl, and as Meredith 
 cantered slowly back to camp his mind became 
 obsessed with a boyish recollection of the coloured 
 illustrations of the celebrated work of Mrs Beeton 
 till he felt he could have cheerfully strangled her. 
 
 But one ray of light appeared. At the last desert 
 post he had just visited— more to avoid his brothers 
 
 220
 
 Toujours Perdrix 
 
 in arms than because of any hope of finding anything 
 from Barton, whom he had long since given up — he 
 had run across an embryo Good Samaritan in the 
 Motor Transport who had suggested bottled eggs. 
 Bottled eggs, he explained to Meredith, were the 
 corner-stone of Egypt's future greatness and the 
 stand-by of all messes, and he waxed eloquent on 
 the various forms of cooking them. He himself was 
 returning immediately to Alexandria and would 
 gladly order on any quantity from a really reliable 
 man he knew there. Meredith with a watering 
 mouth clutched at the offer without hesitation, and 
 although tortured by the recollection of Mrs Beeton, 
 he felt that he had at least made a solid move in the 
 right direction. 
 
 So absorbed was he that he had nearly reached 
 his tent before he noticed an excited crowd round 
 the mess tent to which he bent his steps, then stopped 
 and stared incredulously. Eggs, more eggs — in 
 short, a triumph of eggs! What on earth did it 
 mean ! It was Radley who enlightened him. 
 " Manna in the Wilderness, old son," said he. 
 "What do you think of our salvage, 'conjured up 
 from the vasty deep ' and all the rest of it ? " and he 
 led the bewildered Meredith to inspect a large case 
 of pickled eggs being carefully examined by the 
 gloating mess. " Must have floated off some tor- 
 pedoed ship," continued Radley. " Not one broken, 
 and absolutely fresh. Keep us going for months." 
 "Where did you get it?" asked Meredith, like one 
 in a dream. " One of the patrols saw it floating 
 close inshore," explained Radley, " hiked it out and 
 
 221
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 here we are going to get something worth eating 
 at last, in spite of you." " Something worth eating," 
 Meredith groaned. Eggs of all things, and he had 
 ordered and paid for stacks of them. In spite of the 
 heat he shuddered, but decided to hold his tongue — 
 no need to meet trouble half-way. 
 
 Only those who have had to keep alive midst sand 
 and sun on bully and biscuit can appreciate the 
 delight of the Mess over their treasure trove, and 
 eggs fried and boiled, fricasseed and omeletted, was 
 the order of the day and night. But nothing is so 
 fatal as monotony, and soon they too began to lose 
 their savour. 
 
 It was with undisguised relief that the Mess one 
 day saw a substantial-looking case taken out of a 
 passing armoured car. " There's two come, sir," said 
 the driver to an officer, who, on seeing the box 
 decanted, had sprinted over, " but one's all I had room 
 for. There's another car coming through to-morrow 
 and it'll bring the second one." " Thank heaven," 
 said the officer, who had been joined by all the others 
 not on duty, " here's old Meredith's contribution 
 rolling up at last." " It's bottles," said another, giving 
 the case a shake. " Must be whisky ! Hooray! Lend 
 a hand someone." And in a trice the case lay open. 
 
 " In — the — name — of — Allah ! " slowly ejaculated 
 the first arrival, kneeling beside the gaping case with 
 a bottle in his hand, on which he read the legend, 
 " Liquid Eggs." " My God !— where's Meredith ? " 
 
 And, as if some evil spirit were directing operations, 
 the cases of liquid eggs continued to arrive with the 
 regularity of a synchronised clock. 
 222
 
 Toujours Perdrix 
 
 Painful indeed were the meals as the Mess gazed 
 at each other across the mounds and lakes of eggs 
 in every variety, served with hardly concealed grins 
 by the mess orderlies — even the once hated bully 
 beef seemed a welcome relief. And still more eggs 
 arrived. Meredith's expression was that of a hunted 
 criminal, and it was as much as anyone's life was 
 worth to inform him of the arrival of a fresh con- 
 signment. The ill-advised, although doubtless well- 
 meant, endeavour of a light-hearted youngster to 
 infuse some merriment into things by entering the 
 Mess one evening emitting clucking noises nearly 
 cut short his career, and it was with real difficulty 
 that he was rescued from the almost rabid Meredith. 
 
 Then Meredith's guardian angel returned to duty. 
 
 Once more our solitary horseman is seen crossing 
 the plain. No slack canter this time, but galloping 
 furiously, and once more it is Meredith, but now 
 jubilant, radiant. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he was asked. " You've 
 little need to throw up your hat these days." 
 
 " Oh, haven't I ? " he retorted. " The last train 
 that came into the railhead jumped the points and 
 smashed three trucks to flinders." 
 
 " You ought to be damwell ashamed to raise a 
 cheer when you know that rolling stock " con- 
 tinued the other, when Meredith broke in. " Ashamed 
 be hanged ! " cried he delightedly, " the whole of the 
 remainder of my blankety eggs were in the middle 
 truck ! " 
 
 223
 
 The Real Thing 
 
 In a vale in the land of Moab, there stands a lonely grave. 
 
 C. F. Alexander. 
 
 THE regiment halted. To the practised eye 
 this unit was what a civilian might have 
 called self-supporting. The bulging haver- 
 sacks of the men, the feeds on the saddles, the extra 
 blanket, all told their tale. It was clear that if the 
 body of the enemy located that morning by native 
 scouts on their swift Bisharin camels had again felt 
 the draught and flitted, these horsemen were prepared 
 to push on and find him — if not that day, then the 
 next, sleeping and watering where they could. Two 
 grim-looking motor-driven ambulance cars at the 
 tail of the column were gruesome evidence of the 
 hope and determination to fight. 
 
 On every hand, save for a solitary quivering 
 mirage, the apparently unbroken sweep of the desert 
 stretched to the shimmering horizon in a monotony 
 of sandy grey. The awful sense of isolation, the 
 utter hostility of nature, seemed to have silenced 
 the most irrepressible chatter-box, and the hum of 
 voices that usually follows a halt was strangely 
 lacking. 
 
 But not for long. No country has a monopoly of 
 brave men — lions and hares will be found under 
 every flag — but for one quality the British soldier 
 stands alone : his unquenchable cheerfulness and 
 talkativeness, even though he only open his mouth 
 to grouse. Pipes and " fags " soon appeared, and, as 
 one might put it, conversation became general. 
 
 " I wonder if these blokes that write about horses 
 ever had a leg across one in their lives," remarked 
 224
 
 The Real Thing 
 
 Trooper Pentley, looking up from a tattered magazine 
 he had drawn from a capacious pocket and address- 
 ing the others of his section. "Just listen to this: 
 'Mounted on his Clydesdale, our hero spurred into 
 the thron; , thrusting and cutting like one of the old- 
 time knights r I'd like to have seen him spurring 
 old hairy-heels. And here he goes again : ' Caressing 
 his gallant steed as they rested after their glorious 
 charge, he pulled out a handful of sugar.' Good 
 thing the Quarterbloke didn't spot him, but, Lord, do 
 listen here ! ' She was a lovely creature, with a satin 
 skin, a cross between an Arab and a Suffolk Punch.' 
 What a pleadin' menagerie — and he calls it ' The 
 Real Thing.'" 
 
 " Wonder what the real thing is like," said another 
 trooper, sprawling full length, reins in hand, beside 
 Pentley. 
 
 " Well, you're likely to know fast enough," 
 remarked a corporal, observing a movement at 
 the head of the column, "so shove away that 
 liter-a-choor and stand-to." 
 
 Slowly Pentley rose to his feet and, more from 
 habit than from any consciousness of what he was 
 doing, he mechanically ran a hand over his horse 
 and saddlery, touching buckles and straps, setting 
 the blankets straight and tightening the girth. 
 " Poor old lady," he said, affectionately patting his 
 horse's neck, " it's damn little sugar ive see, and as 
 for your satin skin, well, never mind, we'll gallop 
 over a bit of green stuff again some day. I wonder 
 what the real thing will be like," he mused. " Seems 
 funny to enlist to fight the Germans and then to 
 
 p 225
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 find yourself out here in this godless stinking desert, 
 chasing a crowd of blasted Christy Minstrels who 
 are never ten minutes in one place. I feel queer 
 to-day. I don't think I'll be afraid — no, I'm not 
 afraid — I never was a funk. I stood up to Shady 
 Sutton and beat him easy, though he could give me 
 a stone." The thought of being at last close to the 
 actuality of fighting made him grope in his mind for 
 something to hold on to and which he could not find. 
 
 When the order " Mount ! " rang down the column, 
 for " Prepare to mount " and other " book " commands 
 do not find their way into the desert, his movements 
 were still mechanical and his thoughts far away. 
 
 Signs of something doing were becoming evident, 
 and presently all eyes were looking across at a little 
 cloud of dust on the right flank which soon resolved 
 itself into a mounted man galloping all out back to 
 the column. Now messages are not delivered to the 
 rank and file, but in the halt that followed the 
 galloper's arrival, with the uncanny telepathy that 
 pervades units in action, it became known that the 
 right flank guard had " found " and had been fired 
 on. That no firing had been heard was not astonish- 
 ing : mounted troops moving in level country throw 
 their scouts far afield and the racket of a moving 
 column quickly drowns the noise of rifles unless close 
 at hand. 
 
 The adjutant galloped past. 
 
 " Cheero ! we're for it ! " said Pentley's neighbour, 
 and the squadron moved out to the threatened flank 
 in column of troops. Breaking into a canter, they 
 opened out in extended order. 
 226
 
 The Real Thing 
 
 For a mile or two nothing happened to break the 
 monotonous hammering of shod feet on rocky 
 ground, for, be it remembered, the desert is not all 
 sand, and where the wind has cleared the surface 
 off the rocky subsoil the " going " resembles riding 
 on pavement, except that pavement Is generally 
 reasonably smooth. 
 
 Galloping fast ahead was an officer with two 
 troopers on that most delicate of all cavalry jobs, 
 advance guard to a rapidly moving body with no 
 fixed objective. And what has so often happened, 
 happened now. Slightly altering direction, the 
 squadron quickly lost the line of the advanced scouts, 
 who, noticing the change, had to gallop hard, almost 
 at right angles across the squadron front, to take up 
 direction again. At that moment a single rifle went 
 off, followed apparently from nowhere by a rapid 
 fusillade. 
 
 It is a singular fact that, firing from a lying posi- 
 tion at mounted men, the marksman more often than 
 not misses clean, and this time the whine of the 
 bullets overhead was nowhere answered by that 
 sickening smack which tells that a bullet has found 
 its billet, and seemed to show that there is some 
 truth in the saying that it takes a ton of lead to 
 kill a man. 
 
 " Steady now, men, steady ! " said a recently pro- 
 moted and over-anxious sergeant. 
 
 Although his interjection was quite impersonal, 
 and probably addressed as much to himself as to 
 anyone else, one or two hearty lads who thought 
 it conveyed a reflection on them, or that the remark 
 
 227
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 was quite uncalled for, found time in the hurly-burly 
 to reply after the fashion of Raleigh's classic flourish 
 of trumpets with which he answered the massed guns 
 at Cadiz. 
 
 Wheeling to their right flank, the horsemen swung 
 on in good order till they reached one of the shallow 
 arms of an enormous wadi which gradually dipped 
 and widened into what looked for all the world like 
 a gigantic prehistoric quarry. 
 
 For the reason explained, it was gratifying, though 
 not astonishing, to find that no one had been hit, 
 although, had the warrior who loosed off" first been 
 able to keep his trigger finger quiet a few moments 
 longer, the toll might have been different. 
 
 Having found good cover for their horses in the 
 wadi, the now dismounted troopers lined the rim of 
 their shelter, while the squadron leader himself went 
 out to reconnoitre. 
 
 Sotto voce — more or less — the men cracked jokes 
 and "chipped" each other, indifferent to a desultory 
 fire from the enemy, for the legend of the Briton's 
 tendency to laugh in the jaws of death itself is no 
 myth. But while the man next to him was blithely 
 humming an old music hall chorus, Pentley lay 
 gazing fixedly at the grey ground in front of him. 
 Glancing sideways to see if he were observed, he 
 stealthily felt his pulse — no, it was quite steady. 
 " What is it that's wrong with me to-day .? " he 
 pondered. " I feel exactly as if I had eaten nothing 
 for weeks. They've stopped firing — how quiet 
 everything has gone — how long have we been lying 
 here — I wonder what the others are feeling like? 
 228
 
 The Real Thing 
 
 Good God! There was a man — was it Cornfoot? 
 Yes, old Bill Cornfoot— actually yawning! Ah I 
 there's the major coming back — wonder what he's 
 going to do — hope he gets a move on soon, it's this 
 damned waiting that's getting on my nerves. I 
 know I'll be all right when we get into it." 
 
 In tense silence, forgetting in their keenness that 
 they had ever in their lives been told how vital it 
 was to always " look to your front," every pair of 
 eyes was directed on the major and his second-in- 
 command, now in earnest consultation. After ex- 
 changing a few words, the squadron leader told a 
 man to mount and handed him a hastily scribbled 
 message with the words: "Back to the colonel; gallop 
 like hell." Somewhat superfluous, for as the trooper 
 scrambled his horse out of the far side of the dip 
 he was saluted with a scatter of shots from the ever- 
 watchful enemy which sent him off like a streak to 
 the main body. 
 
 " Mount — draw swords ! " came the order. 
 
 " Swords ! " whispered Pentley. " Then it's to be 
 the real thing after all ! " 
 
 In column of sections the squadron set off down 
 the wadi, its sides gradually rising steeply on each 
 hand. " Gallop ! " was signalled, and away they went. 
 The intention was clear : down one arm and up 
 another, taking the Arabs in their rear, to drive 
 them out. But the son of the desert leads too pre- 
 carious and watchful an existence to be easily caught 
 asleep, and from the safe cover of the rocky sides 
 unsuspected snipers kept up a galling fire on the 
 little band. Well for them that they were horsemen 
 
 229
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 before they were soldiers, for they were galloping 
 over ground that no sane man would have cared 
 to walk a horse through in cold blood. But risks 
 must be taken in war, and victory follows the leader 
 who makes his chance more often than he who 
 merely takes it when it presents itself. Jumping 
 the smaller rocks, swerving round the boulders, 
 cursing when a horse stumbled, jesting when the 
 other fellows did, losing formation and finding it 
 again, the squadron pressed on, and at last Pentley 
 found himself breasting the slope, feeling an over- 
 whelming desire to close with the enemy and get 
 it over. 
 
 They in the meantime had not waited. Changing 
 front, they were already lining the edge of their 
 saucer facing the direction of the expected attack, 
 which their instinct told them would assuredly be 
 sent home. 
 
 Once more on the level, rapidly forming line while 
 on the move, with a shout the horsemen drove across 
 and down on the Arabs. 
 
 It seemed to Pentley that he galloped for years 
 looking at those white figures ahead, and the noise 
 of the firing sounded like a boy drawing a stick along 
 street railings at home. 
 
 Crash ! and he was down with the worst of all 
 things that can happen to a cavalryman in action — 
 pinned by the leg under his dead horse. Mistily he 
 gazed round, tried to rise, and fell back with a groan. 
 He was helpless. Despite the sword knot, his weapon 
 had flown from his hand and was yards away. He 
 thought of his rifle. Vainly he reached for the 
 
 230
 
 The Real Thing 
 
 bucket — every movement was torture to his crushed 
 limb and brought a scream of agony to his lips. 
 
 What was happening? His thoughts raced. 
 Where were the others? Would they come back for 
 him? Surely they wouldn't leave him like this. The 
 noise of the charge was leaving him. The sound of 
 firing, the shrill cries of the Arabs mingled with 
 the thudding of horses' feet and the shouting of his 
 comrades died away. Half stunned with the fall 
 and sick with pain, Pentley lay with his heart 
 throbbing so loudly that the world seemed filled 
 with the sound of it. 
 
 A consciousness of something indefinable made 
 him turn his head — to see an Arab slip from behind 
 a rock. Moving as cautiously as a cat, the Bedouin 
 took in the situation at a glance. 
 
 Fascinated and horror-stricken, Pentley rallied his 
 wits and made another desperate effort to free his 
 leg and reach his rifle. In vain, and faint with the 
 effort he fell heavily back. Satisfied that there was 
 no danger, the Arab crept forward with an evil grin. 
 Licking his lips, he raised his rifle, then, on a second 
 thought, lowered it. Cartridges are precious in the 
 desert. 
 
 Feeling in the folds of his jibbeh, he drew a 
 knife 
 
 231
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 His Majesty sent for three great scholars. . . . These 
 gentlemen, after they had examined my shape with much 
 nicety, were of different opinions concerning me. 
 
 Gulliver's Travels. 
 
 IN the earlier days of the war for a man to be 
 wounded was to excite envy in the hearts of 
 his less fortunate fellows. You were out of it, 
 perhaps for good, and your neck ahead on the game, 
 as the Yankees say. With recovery came reaction, 
 then disillusion followed later. The War Office and 
 its works we cursed dispassionately and from habit, 
 but the language reserved for the Medical Boards — 
 who shall plumb the depths of its sincerity? One 
 could not be angry with the individual members, for 
 the most part delightful old gentlemen with whiskers 
 (how Frank Richardson would have revelled in their 
 face fungi !), obviously ill at ease in their unaccus- 
 tomed kharki clothes and belts and straps, doubtless 
 doing their best to act under orders which were as 
 bewildering to them as the consequences were to 
 their victims. Be it understood that these were 
 war-time Boards : the post-war Medical Board is 
 another story. There are few situations that a 
 sense of humour will not help a sufferer to survive. 
 There is compensation in every adverse happening 
 if we dig deep enough for it. Did not the philosophic 
 gentleman about to be hanged remark that it would 
 be a lesson to him ? When the torture of suffering 
 is over, the knowledge that it is ended is often 
 sufficient compensation for what one has gone 
 through, but humour and philosophy alike fail to 
 act where Medical Boards are concerned. Sheer 
 232
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 resignation alone will avail anything, and apparently 
 to the end of his days will the disabled soldier be 
 haled periodically before the inquisitors. They are 
 in the bureaucratic net. Shall the obscure return to 
 their obscurity because the guns are stilled ? Perish 
 the thought. Because one department has nominally 
 ceased to exist, shall the game finish? Not if the 
 experts know it, and it will take something more 
 than the " mighty strong west wind " that shifted 
 Pharaoh's locusts to expel the departmental artists. 
 
 For our war-time boarders, or whatever they 
 called themselves, one felt a sneaking sympathy 
 during the seances, they were so obviously trying to 
 be helpful ; generally timorous as those walking in 
 strange pastures by no means green, and frequently 
 damnably incompetent. With much truth could 
 they, like tender parents, have assured us that it 
 hurt them almost as much as it hurt us, and looking 
 back across the years, one thinks of them gratefully 
 as kindly, sympathetic gentlemen (for the most part) 
 struggling conscientiously with a distasteful task. 
 But these were the ordinary two-a-penny Medical 
 Boards that everyone save the lucky encountered 
 soon or later. It is of another type of the species 
 that you shall hear. 
 
 It fell upon a day that I was commanded to 
 present myself at the War Office to appear before 
 a Medical Board whose function was apparently to 
 decide how small a pension one could decently be 
 given. Now in the ordinary way, when one was 
 called to be boarded at ten A.M., after one or two 
 experiences one strolled up at about noon or so and 
 
 233
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 found them, usually, glad to see you, but as most of 
 us at one time or another had discovered, monkeying 
 with the War Office was a hazardous pastime. That 
 much-maligned institution was far from being the 
 hot-bed of incompetents that a Press-fed population 
 was too ready to believe it to be. The politician had 
 got us into a sad mess and it was the War Office 
 that got us out. Called upon in a hurry to expand 
 to unimagined dimensions, the huge improvisation 
 was marvellously efficient. Not being blessed with 
 the particular brand of intelligence required, I never 
 shone as a wangler. Often did we in the army 
 observe how things would fly back and smite pain- 
 fully those who had tried to bring off a wangle at 
 the expense of the War Office, and just at the time, 
 too, when the would-be wangler was chuckling to 
 think that he had got away with it, as the army 
 expression goes. For that is their little way. They 
 give you so many yards law, then wing you. So we 
 arrived betimes. 
 
 Although frequently in correspondence with the old 
 lady, oddly enough we had never met, and one could 
 not be long in the sacred building without realising 
 that the work of keeping the home fires burning 
 was one of much magnitude. On entering one was 
 gathered in by a policeman. After various formal- 
 ities one was detached from a crowd of fellow waifs 
 and strays and eventually handed over with a pass 
 to a tiny girl in a brown gaberdine. By this infant 
 one was metaphorically taken by the hand and 
 piloted through the rabbit warren, stopped every 
 few yards by a policeman who examined the pass 
 
 234
 
 The Mechcal Board 
 
 and moved you on. The most striking feature of 
 the place at that time was the quantity of large 
 policemen in the building. It seems to be a historical 
 fact that when the storm broke, for some consider- 
 able time the War Office took no precautions what- 
 ever to prevent undesirables from entering, and all 
 sorts of unauthorised people made free with it, till 
 one night an official awoke in a cold sweat and 
 realised that at that precise moment a spy might be 
 setting the time-fuse of his bomb. Then they stuffed 
 in about an army corps of policemen. 
 
 So the infant and I paddled about amongst their 
 feet and showers of red-tabbed kharki dashing about 
 on its doubtless lawful occasions, till at last at the 
 end of a bleak-looking, windowed corridor I was 
 handed over to a Boy Scout, seated at a small table, 
 deeply engrossed in something of the " Deadwood 
 Dick "brand of shocker. Sticking down a grubby 
 forefinger to mark his place, without even glancing 
 up, he grabbed the chit identifying me and stuck it 
 with some others on a spike and chanted mechanic- 
 ally, " Tike y'plice, y'll be called liter," and I seated 
 myself at the end of a score of brethren in affliction. 
 
 We had not then been told by any vote-snatching 
 neocrat that we were soon to have a country fit for 
 heroes to live in, so that disabled crocks had no 
 reason to anticipate more than the ordinary treat- 
 ment of the unfit. Nor did we suffer any shock of 
 disappointment. With our fundaments over a hot 
 pipe and our heads in a draught, all through the 
 long forenoon we sat in that draughty corridor on 
 our hard seats, bench or chair, I forget which, but 
 
 235
 
 Oddly Enough ! 
 
 the discomfort of them was something to remember. 
 Too uncomfortable to drowse on, we fidgeted the 
 hours away, with full leisure to reflect on the beauty 
 of Gavin Douglass's line : " I irkit of my bed and 
 mycht not lye." Much irking did we do that day. 
 
 We were apparently in a back-water so far as 
 traffic went. Occasionally red-tabs strolled past with 
 a supercilious glance at what must have resembled 
 a queue of paupers waiting for outdoor relief. An 
 inclination to indulge in gibes at these home-fire 
 Staff-wallahs must be suppressed. That theme has 
 been worn threadbare, and in any case facile est 
 inventis addere — it is too easy. 
 
 A ray of light occasionally brightened up the 
 gloom by the passage, usually in couples, of the 
 beautiful ladies who did so much to oil the works 
 of the war machine, in skirts so abbreviated that it 
 required some nerve to dare to look up from our 
 lowly seats. As the heads turned to mark their 
 stately advent and disappearance, one irresistibly 
 recalled those delightful " Country Life " photographs 
 of rows of young birds perched on a branch, all 
 looking open-mouthed in the same direction. But 
 no choice morsel fell, and we soon felt, like the 
 conductor of the ballet orchestra, that visions of legs, 
 be they never so shapely, are poor compensation for 
 discomfort. 
 
 From time to time a name would be called and a 
 victim was passed through a door in the dead corridor 
 wall facing us. It cannot be truthfully stated that 
 anyone was ever detained long inside. The patient 
 usually reappeared quite soon, but the long interval 
 2^6
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 that followed was rather puzzling. It was reasonable 
 to conclude that the specialists were deliberating 
 profoundly. I think I stumbled on the real reason 
 later. 
 
 And so the long day wore on. We were not even 
 allowed to smoke! Towards one o'clock it was 
 graciously announced that no more would be taken 
 before lunch, so we were free to retire on the strict 
 understanding that we must reappear at two of the 
 clock. The procession of the halt, the maim, the 
 blind and, let it be added, the weary collected its 
 permits and slowly filed away. 
 
 Fortified by lunch and the thinning numbers, the 
 afternoon outlook seemed more hopeful, but the waits 
 between the "turns" seemed to increase in length 
 and, despite the acute discomfort of the place, here 
 and there a lethargic head nodded among the 
 remnant 
 
 Suddenly a stir arose and the clack of typewriters 
 died away. Our Boy Scout slammed together his 
 shocker and tucking it into his shirt disappeared 
 at a trot. The noise of the opening and shutting 
 of many doors was heard near and far. The din 
 increased. Boy Scouts and brown-smocked girls 
 dashed about with trays and kettles. Shoals of 
 charming fashion-plates cruised about singly, or 
 arm in arm in pairs, bearing tea things. All was 
 bustle and movement ; the whole building and the 
 kettles boiled, the grand moment of the day was at 
 hand. It was tea-time in the War Ofiice, 
 
 Speculation arose amongst us as to the possibilities 
 of our getting any. Boy Scouts and messenger girls
 
 Oddly Knotigh! 
 
 whose haste we checked would have none of us. 
 Afternoon tea amongst men is largely a habit — 
 amongst women it is a ritual — but the mere fact of 
 being deprived of anything begets an appetite. We 
 were no longer even potential heroes it was true, but 
 even had we been conscripts, some consideration . . . 
 We did not appear to be even amongst the probables, 
 so a boy was captured and dispatched with a message 
 to O.C.Tea-house demanding tea. He disappeared, 
 and Heaven knows where he got to, but we never saw 
 him again. We certainly got no tea. However, it 
 broke the monotony of things and gave us something 
 to talk about. 
 
 Just then my name was called and I was ushered 
 through the door into the Presence. I found myself 
 in a large room running parallel with the corridor. 
 It was a very large room, and in contrast to where 
 we had been roosting it seemed positively palatial. 
 At each end was an enormous roaring fire, larger 
 than anything I ever saw outside a steamer's stoke- 
 hole, the combination producing an atmosphere like 
 a Turkish bath. At the near end, opposite the door, 
 and at the side nearest me, were two old gentlemen 
 in kharki, plastered with medal ribbons, both reason- 
 ably awake, although in a somnolent condition. 
 To my left, at the distant end of the long table, a 
 third was seated, dozing peacefully. No immediate 
 notice was taken of my entry, so I had a moment to 
 appraise them, and I realised that this was no scratch 
 R. A.M.C. pack, but the veritable A. M.S., and I under- 
 stood the long intervals : between the rounds the 
 crafty old birds dozed. Then the patriarch at my 
 238
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 end of the table cast a livery eye on me, and throwing 
 off a yawn that nearly dislocated his jaw, mumbled 
 something unintelligible. Knowing the usual pro- 
 cedure, I volunteered my name. I seemed to have 
 got a winner, for he clawed through a pile of papers 
 till he retrieved a file, then, after running through 
 them, he leaned back in his capacious chair and 
 languidly asked me to undress. Now I am a modest 
 man, and seeing a screen near a fire I turned to 
 advance on it, when I was pulled up and told just to 
 proceed where I stood. It was their call and 1 had 
 no wish to argue, so I began to strip, painfully con- 
 scious that I had a door behind me. Just as I had 
 shed all my garments it happened. The door at my 
 back opened and with a soft, light tread someone 
 entered, to the accompaniment of the clink of a laden 
 tea-tray. I gasped in horror. None but the fairest 
 of the fair would be allowed to wait on such 
 potentates, and there I was like the shiftless lady of 
 the story. Dear reader, do you remember a charm- 
 ing colour print called, I think, A September Morn 
 that had the honour of being banned in the United 
 States? Remove the charm of the figure, substitute 
 a distressed male man and the picture is complete. 
 I have explained that I am a modest man and as 
 such my plight was desperate, with my clothes 
 festooned round my ankles. The war has left my 
 balance somewhat insecure, so in snatching at my 
 garments I lurched and nearly fell. Straightening 
 myself, I involuntarily glanced at Hebe. She was a 
 spotty-faced type of a fag-sucking, carrot-headed 
 orderly, and the dainty footfall was due to rope- 
 
 239
 
 Oddly Rriough ! - 
 
 soled shoes. I am afraid I was not so relieved as I 
 should have been. 
 
 With the advent of tea the trinity was now wide 
 awake. They fell to right manfully and, I regret 
 to add, right noisily. For the moment, for several 
 moments, I was forgotten while they lapped and 
 stuffed. But even a worm, someone says, will turn, 
 and stifling a longing to drag on my breeks and cuff 
 their patriarchal ears, I offered up a cough of the 
 brand usually described as deprecating. Methuselah I. 
 at my end of the table, who seemed to be the burra 
 sahib, paused and looked up at me sideways like a 
 mastiff disturbed over a bone, and he really looked 
 so like one that I quite expected him to growl. 
 Reassuring himself that I had not intended to 
 forcibly seize some of his toast, or that I hoped to 
 be invited to share anything, he bolted a bun and, 
 mopping his face and hands, turned in his chair 
 slightly towards me and crossed his legs. I felt that 
 we were progressing. Then followed this dialogue : 
 
 Methuselah I. Your wounds now ; leg, hum ! 
 ha ! arm, chest . . . (And the rest of his question 
 died away in buttered toast.) 
 
 Myself. ? ? ? 
 
 Meth. I. Now the leg. Short a bit, what?" 
 
 Myself. You can see from the medical reports 
 that it is. They all disagree as to the amount, but 
 if I may sit you can judge for yourself. 
 
 Meth. I. Oh, not at all, not at all. Ha! hum! 
 hum ! (Then to his confederate, with the air of one 
 making a discovery :) He's got a thigh. 
 240
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 Meth. II. (Turning round to look at me). Yes, 
 he's got a thigh. 
 
 Short visual examination by Methuselah II., 
 followed by distraction for more tea on the part 
 of Methuselah I., during which Methuselah II. 
 started a little friendly conversation. Maybe he 
 felt compassionate. They were kindly souls accord- 
 ing to their lights. '* I see by your papers that you 
 belong to the mounted arm ; very interesting, very 
 interesting. Now tell me, tell me, what do the 
 cavalry do with their carbines when they go into 
 the trenches ? " 
 
 I told him that to the best of my recollection the 
 carbine became obsolete after the Boer War. How- 
 ever, he had not asked me where we got the flints for 
 our matchlocks, so it was not so very bad. 
 
 Then the questioning broke out again: 
 
 Meth. I. Now the arm : any pain ? 
 Myself. None ; only inconvenience. 
 Meth. I. (Examining). Hum ! Yes, power gone, 
 paralysed a bit, ha ! 
 
 Further examination by both, then more tea and 
 buns. 
 
 Meth. I. Now the chest : any pain ? 
 
 Myself. Only discomfort when I raise my 
 elbow, and even in the north where we make it 
 the chances for that are few and very far between 
 in these days. 
 
 Q 241
 
 Oddly Enough! 
 
 Meth. I. and II. Ha! ha! ha! Capital! 
 Capital ! Ha ! 
 
 Hearing the cachinnatory outburst, Methuselah III. 
 crammed himself full of buttered toast and with a 
 bun in each hand rose and started to walk round to 
 us. Tall and attenuated, he suggested a dyspeptic 
 viking, and he stotted round the table like an elderly 
 adjutant bird with a string halt in both legs. On the 
 cause of the merriment being explained to him he 
 ejaculated " Ha ! " twice, quite distinctly, and as he 
 straddled the fireplace the trio gazed so intently at 
 me that I felt like Gulliver and the three great 
 scholars of Brobdingnag. The idea of a Scotsman 
 making a joke seemed to intrigue them vastly, and 
 one could see them storing up the modest jape for 
 repetition in the suburbs that night. 
 
 Whereupon, as Master Pepys would say, we were 
 merry together, although, judging by subsequent 
 results as expressed financially, they must on reflec- 
 tion have disapproved of levity on such occasions, un- 
 less provoked by themselves, just as while within the 
 witness-box wit is usually scowled down, judicial 
 buffoonery on the bench commands ready applause 
 from a sycophantic court. 
 
 There is a popular impression abroad that, pace 
 the politician, the war was won by the young men. 
 Nothing could be further from fact. True, they did 
 the dirty work, but that is what they were there for. 
 The war was won by the dug-out. Who but senile 
 dotards could have had the temerity to so airily order 
 the achievement of the impossible and brought it off? 
 242
 
 The Medical Board 
 
 When the alarm of war sounded these brave old 
 quiddlers had toddled out from their retreats. From 
 the wilds of Surbiton and the fastnesses of Hamp- 
 stead, where, since the Crimea, they had been peace- 
 fully raising pouter pigeons, they emerged, and, 
 shouldering their stethoscopes, showed how fields 
 were won. 
 
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