The "Assassins," as Carruthers called Tims' men, were all-powerful at the Night Club. They were always in sufficient strength to form a majority; but in reality Bindle exercised a sort of unconscious despotism. When a question arose, we instinctively2 looked to Bindle, who in turn looked to Sallie.
"When I first 'eard that frogs come out o' tadpoles3, I couldn't 'ardly believe it," Bindle once remarked, "but when I looks at the Assassins an' remembers that they'll become doctors in top 'ats, with a you-leave-it-to-me-an'-I'll-save-yer-if-I-can look, well, after that I'll believe anythink."
"What's the matter with us?" enquired4 Roger Blint, a little dark man with a quiet manner and a violent soul.
"Well, as far as I can see, there ain't nothink wrong wi yer as men; but doctors—!" Bindle shook his head despondently5. "I wouldn't trust my young life to one of yer."
Bindle fixed6 his gaze on Jim Colman, the recognised leader of all demonstrations7, physical and vocal8. Colman has the instincts of a mob-leader, but the most delicate "touch" among the younger men at Tims. He is destined9 for Harley Street and a baronetcy.
"Look at Mr. Colman," continued Bindle. "'Ow'd jer like to 'ave 'im 'oldin' yer 'and an' tellin' yer to get ready for an 'arp?"
"Well, what about Bill?" enquired Colman. "He looks harmless enough—what?"
Bill Simmonds is a little sandy fellow, with a bald, conical head, who beams upon the world through gold-rimmed spectacles, which give him a genial10, benevolent11 expression. He looks for all the world like "a clever egg," as Dare once described him.
"Well," remarked Bindle, judicially12, examining Bill Simmonds' face, "I might be prepared to trust 'im wi' my soul; but as for my body, well, give me Mr. Dennett or Mr. Smith. I'm like Mrs. B.; I like 'em big."
Hugh Dennett is an international three-quarter who has made football history, whereas Archie Smith was the amateur champion heavy-weight when the war broke out.
"I ain't got anythink to say against you as sports," said Bindle encouragingly; "but as doctors, well, well!" And again he shook his head with mournful conviction.
Tims' men never talk "shop," but from scraps13 of conversation among themselves that I have overheard, theirs is a strenuous14 life. Sometimes they do not see their beds for three consecutive15 nights; yet they are always cheery and regard whatever they have to do as their "bit." One complaint they have, that they are not allowed to go to the front.
All seem to find in the Night Club relaxation16 from strenuous days and sleepless17 nights. According to Bindle, who is a recognised authority upon such matters, they are a cheer-o! crowd. It was they who had been loudest in their support of Sallie's election, and when "the Boy's" story came to be told, they were equally definite in their view that he must be invited to join our exclusive circle. These were the only two instances of stories told at the Night Club resulting in our membership being increased. Incidentally the Boy fell in love with Sallie, and this formed an additional bond of sympathy between him and us.
I
To his brother officers he was always "The Boy." The men, with more directness of speech, referred to him as "The Kid," whilst at Whitehall he was known as Second Lieut. Richard St. John Custance Summers, of the 8th Service Battalion18 Westshire Regiment19.
How he managed to secure his commission no one ever knew.
"Must 'a been 'is bloomin' smile," was the opinion of the platoon sergeant20, expressed to the company-sergeant-major. "The men make fools o' theirselves about the Kid."
Chubby-faced, languid of manner, forgetful and "frightfully sorry" afterwards, even in his khaki he did not look more than sixteen. At mess he sat as if he had collapsed21 from sheer lack of bone necessary to keep him rigid22. He literally23 lolled through life.
In carrying out his duties, such as he was unsuccessful in evading24, he gave the impression of being willing in spirit, but finding great difficulty in getting his body to respond to his wishes.
One day the Colonel, a big blue-eyed man, whom the men called "the Kid's nurse," had told him that he had "the spirit of a martinet25, but the body of a defaulter," which was not a bad description for the C.O., who did not incline to epigram.
When given an order, the Boy would salute26, with that irresistible27 smile of his that got him out of some scrapes and into others, then off he would lounge, all legs and arms, like a young colt, although as a matter of fact he was below medium height. When he made a mistake the N.C.O.'s and men contrived28 to correct it, with the result that his was the smartest platoon in the battalion. The Senior Major had once said to him:
"Boy, you're the slackest young cub29 I've ever met, yet you get more out of the men than the Colonel and I combined. How is it?"
"I suppose, sir," replied the Boy with great seriousness, "they see I'm such an awful ass1 that they're sorry for me."
The Boy got more leave and took more leave than any other officer in the division, and no one seemed to resent it. He never did anything in quite the same way as another youngster would, and he was a constant source of interest to his brother officers.
One roystering night he had returned to his quarters in a state ill-befitting "an officer and a gentleman," and the company-sergeant-major, aided by a corporal, had put him to bed and they had mutually sworn eternal secrecy30. In the morning, although the two non-coms. had managed to convey to him that only they knew of the episode, the Boy had gone to the Colonel, and before the other officers said:
"I returned to barracks last night drunk, sir. I was very drunk and I think I was singing. I'm sorry. It sha'n't occur again."
The Colonel asked who had seen him, and on being told that only the company-sergeant-major and a corporal knew of the incident, he burst out with:
"Then why the devil do you tell me about it?"
"I wanted you to know, sir. It was rather rotten of me. I know you hate it, sir, and it's a bad example."
The C.O. turned aside to hide a smile. The idea of the Boy being an example to anyone or anything amused him; but being a disciplinarian, and understanding something of the Boy's nature, he stopped a week-end leave due some ten days hence, and from the Boy's smile as he saluted31 he saw that he had done the right thing.
One day the Boy was given charge of his company in a sham32 fight, at which as everybody knew the Brigadier was to be present.
With his command, the Boy was like a kitten with a skein of wool. He got it hopelessly tangled34. Perspiring35 and swearing N.C.O.'s strove in vain to evolve order and find out exactly where they were.
Suddenly, with a yell to fix bayonets and charge, the Boy darted36 forward followed by the men in a manner that would have broken the heart of a drill-sergeant. They had blundered upon an enemy field battery in the act of limbering up, and the Boy returned to camp with six guns and a stream of prisoners, and the Brigadier had spoken to the Colonel of the exploit.
"Talk about luck! Blimey! That Kid'll save the bloomin' regiment one o' these days," grinned a private, as the boy marched with rather a bored air at the head of his day's bag.
The Boy continued to avoid as if by instinct all the duties he possibly could. Indeed, he was apparently38 aided and abetted39 by officers and men alike. When at last the word arrived to prepare to entrain for an unknown destination, the Boy's chief concern had been about his kit33. The C.O.'s instructions had been definite and incisively40 expressed. He ordered that nothing be taken that was not absolutely necessary, and had added that he did not want to see France lumbered41 up with cast-off articles of kit of the 8th Westshires.
There had been rather a heated argument between the Boy and his captain as to the interpretation42 of the word "necessaries."
"My boot-trees and manicure set," said the Boy, "are as necessary to me as your trousers are to you."
"Rot!" the captain had replied. "You'll be thinking more of your skin than of your nails when you get out there."
The Boy had compromised by leaving the boot-trees and taking a pocket manicure set.
In the trenches44 he was the same imperturbable45, languid half boy, half man he had been in England. He was as indifferent to shells and bullets as to the grins of the men as he lolled against the parados polishing his nails. Sometimes he would bewail the lost boot-trees as he surveyed his hopeless-looking foot-gear.
At first the uncleanliness of trench43 life had roused him from his accustomed languor46, but later he accepted this and what it entailed47, not with philosophic48 calm, but because protest involved effort.
Even when towards the end of the September that culminated49 in Loos it became known that the 8th Westshires were to take part in "the big push," and whilst officers and men were eagerly discussing their chances, he remained his sunny, imperturbable self.
On the night before the charge, the Colonel had sent for him to go to his dug-out, and there had told him that early in the morning he was to go back with an important message to Divisional headquarters and await a reply, which he was to bring back after the action. Without a word the Boy gave the necessary acknowledgment and saluted, but there was a mutinous50 look in his eyes as he wheeled round and left the Colonel's dug-out.
He spoke37 to no one, although many of his brother officers watched him to see how he would take it. The C.O. had conferred with the Senior Major, and decided51 that he could not risk the Boy's life, a view that was entirely52 endorsed53 by every officer and man in the regiment.
For hours the Boy stood brooding and polishing his nails. Then, just before "stand-to" he disappeared. His captain was the first to discover the fact, and enquiry was made along the whole line of trenches, but no one had seen the Boy for at least half an hour.
II
The guns had opened their brazen54 throats in a frenzy55 of hate. Overhead shells whistled and hissed56, lumbered and howled as they tore towards the enemy trenches, a hurricane of screaming hate. Gusts57 of shrapnel spat58 death from above, and rifle and machine-gun bullets buried themselves impotently in the sandbags amid little puffs59 of dust. Slowly dawn shivered into day—a day of greyness and of death.
In the assembly-trench the 8th Westshires were waiting. Heavy-eyed and silent they gazed towards the enemy lines, hidden by a curtain of dense60 yellow smoke. Against the parapet scaling ladders were placed ready. At a word, a short snapping sound barked along the trench, the ladders suddenly became alive, as men scrambled61 up and passed over the top, or fell backward with a dull thud.
"No rushing, a steady advance in open order," had been the Colonel's last words to his officers.
The 8th Westshires formed up and, as steady as on parade, advanced. They had not proceeded more than thirty yards when with a sigh a breeze swept past them and carried the yellow gas beyond the first enemy trench, like a curtain of fairy gauze.
Machine-guns and rifles poured a merciless fire into the Westshires. Everywhere men were dropping, silently or with little coughs of surprise. They advanced a further twenty yards and then faltered62. With a shout the Colonel dashed on waving his stock. The moment of uncertainty63 seemed to pass, when suddenly the Colonel dropped.
"My God!" muttered the Senior Major, as he saw the indecision pass like a wave along the line; he also noticed several men had turned and were stealing back to the trenches they had just left. "They'll—they'll——" and there was a sob64 in his voice.
Just at the moment when retreat seemed inevitable65, a figure rose from a small shell-crater66, and with a yell that no one heard waved on the Westshires.
"It's the Boy," gasped67 an officer. "Where the hell——"
"It's the bloomin' Kid. Well I'm damned!" roared the colour sergeant. "'Ere, come on, or they'll nab 'im."
This was enough for the Westshires. Capture the Kid? Not if they knew it. With a howl they raced for the enemy trench, overtaking the Boy two yards from the sand-bags. The men's blood was up. They tumbled into the first trench, and with a sickening "sog sog" their bayonets got to work. Little coughs and grunts68 told of men doubled up. Everywhere cries of "Kamerad" were heard.
"It's no use yellin', sonny," one man was heard to say. "You've got to 'ave it—you've go to 'ave it!" and he drove his bayonet into a German's massive loins.
The Boy had come through untouched. Like a moth69 he flitted about from place to place, and wherever he was, there the fighting would be at its fiercest. Not only had the second line of trenches been taken in accordance with instructions, but the Westshires had crushed all resistance in the first, which they should have left to a following battalion. The work done, the Boy called two stretcher-bearers, and went back in search of the Colonel.
III
That night the Colonel sat in a German dugout, with a heavily bandaged leg. He had refused to go to the rear. He must first see the Boy.
When he entered, the Boy saluted and stood as if waiting for something that he knew would happen, but in which he was not particularly interested.
"What have you to say?" the Colonel enquired with unsmiling eyes. In the 8th Westshires officers and men alike dreaded70 the absence of that smile which seemed so much a part of the Colonel's eyes.
The Boy hung his head. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, in a low, husky voice.
"You remember my orders?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yet you absented yourself without leave."
"It was——" the Boy stopped; his voice seemed suddenly to forsake71 him. Then after a moment's pause the words came in a rush.
"It was the old dad, sir. I've never let him know I'm such a rotter. If he knew I was sent to rear before the charge it would have crocked him. He—he—thinks no end of me."
The Boy stopped again and looked at the Colonel. "I crept out this morning, and lay in a small crater near our trench until the advance. I was going to join up and I thought I should get killed. He would sooner have me dead than not there. I'm sorry, sir—I'm——" The Boy's voice trailed off into a sob.
"You know what you did to-day?" enquired the Colonel. The smile was back in his eyes, but the Boy did not see it.
"Deserted72!" The word came out with a jerk.
"Yes, you deserted—that is, technically—but you saved the whole battalion from being cut up and—possibly disgraced."
The Boy looked at the C.O. in wonder. He blinked his eyes uncertainly.
"I—I don't——"
"Listen, Boy! You were sent out by my orders on listening-patrol, and told to join up with the Battalion when it advanced. You did so, do you understand?"
"But listening-patrols aren't sent out under bombardment, sir."
"Damn you, Boy, what the devil do you mean? Am I C.O. or you?" The Colonel wanted to laugh and simulated anger to preserve his authority.
"I'm sorry, sir; but——"
"Well, never mind about listening-patrol. I shall send an account of your services to the General that will get you the D.S.O., possibly the V.C. I will write to the—er—old dad myself." The Colonel's voice was husky.
"Now, get out, Boy, damn it—get out at once!"
And the Boy got out.
There was the vigour73 of conviction in Bindle's play with his mallet74, and the hum of talk at the conclusion of the story made it obvious that the Boy had considerably75 enlarged the circle of his friends.
"He's a dear!" Sallie blinked her eyes vigorously. They were suspiciously moist.
"'Ere, 'ere, miss," agreed Bindle. As a matter of fact Bindle always agrees with anything that Sallie says.
"I say, Windover, couldn't you bring him round one night?" enquired Dick Little.
"I'll try," said Windover. "He's stationed at Wimbledon now."
"And did he get the V.C.?" enquired the practical-minded Angell Herald76.
"No, the D.S.O.," replied Windover, "with promotion77 to a first lieutenancy78."
"What a shame," said Sallie, and turning to Windover she said, "You will bring him, Winnie, won't you?" Sallie and Windover are old friends.
And that is how the Boy became a "Night-Clubber." He is a strange combination of impudence79 and innocence80; but there is one way of bringing him to heel. It was quite by accident that I discovered it.
One evening he had been roasting poor Angell Herald rather badly, and although that astute81 person was sublimely82 unaware83 of what was taking place, both Dick Little and I thought things had gone far enough.
I happened to have with me the manuscript of the story of how the Boy got his D.S.O. Without a word I started reading from it in a loud voice. I had not got six lines down the page before he slowly dragged himself out of the armchair in which he was lounging, his face crimson84, and, walking towards the door, remarked:
"You'll find me on the mat when you've done reading rot."
That is the Boy all over.
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1
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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tadpoles
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| n.蝌蚪( tadpole的名词复数 ) | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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6
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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7
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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martinet
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| n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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abetted
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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incisively
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| adv.敏锐地，激烈地 | |
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lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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52
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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53
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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56
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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63
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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lieutenancy
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| n.中尉之职，代理官员 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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sublimely
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| 高尚地，卓越地 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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