On pleasant afternoons Mr. Lavender would often take his seat on one of the benches which adorned the Spaniard's Road to enjoy the beams of the sun and the towers of the City confused in smoky distance. And strolling forth with Blink on the afternoon of the day on which the doctor had come to see him he sat down to read a periodical, which enjoined on everyone the necessity of taking the utmost interest in soldiers disabled by the war. “Yes,” he thought, “it is indeed our duty to force them, no matter what their disablements, to continue and surpass the heroism they displayed out there, and become superior to what they once were.” And it seemed to him a distinct dispensation of Providence when the rest of his bench was suddenly occupied by three soldiers in the blue garments and red ties of hospital life. They had been sitting there for some minutes, divided by the iron bars necessary to the morals of the neighbourhood, while Mr. Lavender cudgelled his brains for an easy and natural method of approach, before Blink supplied the necessary avenue by taking her stand before a soldier and looking up into his eye.
“Lord!” said the one thus accosted, “what a fyce! Look at her moustache! Well, cocky, 'oo are you starin' at?”
“My dog,” said Mr. Lavender, perceiving his chance, “has an eye for the strange and beautiful.
“Wow said the soldier, whose face was bandaged, she'll get it 'ere, won't she?”
Encouraged by the smiles of the soldier and his comrades, Mr. Lavender went on in the most natural voice he could assume.
“I'm sure you appreciate, my friends, the enormous importance of your own futures?”
The three soldiers, whose faces were all bandaged, looked as surprised as they could between them, and did not answer. Mr. Lavender went on, dropping unconsciously into the diction of the article he had been reading: “We are now at the turning-point of the ways, and not a moment is to be lost in impressing on the disabled man the paramount necessity of becoming again the captain of his soul. He who was a hero in the field must again lead us in those qualities of enterprise and endurance which have made him the admiration of the world.”
The three soldiers had turned what was visible of their faces towards Mr. Lavender, and, seeing that he had riveted their attention, he proceeded: “The apathy which hospital produces, together with the present scarcity of labour, is largely responsible for the dangerous position in which the disabled man now finds himself. Only we who have not to face his future can appreciate what that future is likely to be if he does not make the most strenuous efforts to overcome it. Boys,” he added earnestly, remembering suddenly that this was the word which those who had the personal touch ever employed, “are you making those efforts? Are you equipping your minds? Are you taking advantage of your enforced leisure to place yourselves upon some path of life in which you can largely hold your own against all comers?”
He paused for a reply.
The soldiers, silent for a moment, in what seemed to Mr. Lavender to be sheer astonishment, began to fidget; then the one next him turned to his neighbour, and said:
“Are we, Alf? Are we doin' what the gentleman says?”
“I can answer that for you,” returned Mr. Lavender brightly; “for I can tell by your hospitalized faces that you are living in the present; a habit which, according to our best writers, is peculiar to the British. I assure you,” he went on with a winning look, “there is no future in that. If you do not at once begin to carve fresh niches for yourselves in the temple of industrialism you will be engulfed by the returning flood, and left high and dry upon the beach of fortune.”
During these last few words the half of an irritated look on the faces of the soldiers changed to fragments of an indulgent and protective expression.
“Right you are, guv'nor,” said the one in the middle. Don't you worry, we'll see you home all right.
“It is you,” said Mr. Lavender, “that I must see home. For that is largely the duty of us who have not had the great privilege of fighting for our country.”
These words, which completed the soldiers' conviction that Mr. Lavender was not quite all there, caused them to rise.
“Come on, then,” said one; “we'll see each other home. We've got to be in by five. You don't have a string to your dog, I see.”
“Oh no!” said Mr. Lavender puzzled “I am not blind.”
“Balmy,” said the soldier soothingly. “Come on, sir, an' we can talk abaht it on the way.”
Mr. Lavender, delighted at the impression he had made, rose and walked beside them, taking insensibly the direction for home.
“What do you advise us to do, then, guv'nor?” said one of the soldiers.
“Throw away all thought of the present,” returned Mr. Lavender, with intense earnestness; “forget the past entirely, wrap yourselves wholly in the future. Do nothing which will give you immediate satisfaction. Do not consider your families, or any of those transient considerations such as pleasure, your homes, your condition of health, or your economic position; but place yourselves unreservedly in the hands of those who by hard thinking on this subject are alone in the condition to appreciate the individual circumstances of each of you. For only by becoming a flock of sheep can you be conducted into those new pastures where the grass of your future will be sweet and plentiful. Above all, continue to be the heroes which you were under the spur of your country's call, for you must remember that your country is still calling you.”
“That's right,” said the soldier on Mr. Lavender's left. “Puss, puss! Does your dog swot cats?”
At so irrelevant a remark Mr. Lavender looked suspiciously from left to right, but what there was of the soldiers' faces told him nothing.
“Which is your hospital?” he asked.
“Down the 'ill, on the right,” returned the soldier. “Which is yours?”
“Alas! it is not in a hospital that I——”
“I know,” said the soldier delicately, “don't give it a name; no need. We're all friends 'ere. Do you get out much?”
“I always take an afternoon stroll,” said Mr. Lavender, “when my public life permits. If you think your comrades would like me to come and lecture to them on their future I should be only too happy.”
“D'you 'ear, Alf?” said the soldier. “D'you think they would?”
The soldier, addressed put a finger to the sound side of his mouth and uttered a catcall.
“I might effect a radical change in their views,” continued Mr. Lavender, a little puzzled. “Let me leave you this periodical. Read it, and you will see how extremely vital all that I have been saying is. And then, perhaps, if you would send me a round robin, such as is usual in a democratic country, I could pop over almost any day after five. I sometimes feel”—and here Mr. Lavender stopped in the middle of the road, overcome by sudden emotion—“that I have really no right to be alive when I see what you have suffered for me.”
“That's all right, old bean,”, said the soldier on his left; “you'd 'a done the same for us but for your disabilities. We don't grudge it you.”
“Boys,” said Mr. Lavender, “you are men. I cannot tell you how much I admire and love you.”
“Well, give it a rest, then; t'ain't good for yer. And, look 'ere! Any time they don't treat you fair in there, tip us the wink, and we'll come over and do in your 'ousekeeper.”
Mr. Lavender smiled.
“My poor housekeeper!” he said. “I thank you all the same for your charming goodwill. This is where I live,” he added, stopping at the gate of the little house smothered in lilac and laburnum. “Can I offer you some tea?”
The three soldiers looked at each other, and Mr. Lavender, noticing their surprise, attributed it to the word tea.
“I regret exceedingly that I am a total abstainer,” he said.
The remark, completing the soldiers' judgment of his case, increased their surprise at the nature of his residence; it remained unanswered, save by a shuffling of the feet.
Mr. Lavender took off his hat.
“I consider it a great privilege,” he said, “to have been allowed to converse with you. Goodbye, and God bless you!”
So saying, he opened the gate and entered his little garden carrying his hat in his hand, and followed by Blink.
The soldiers watched him disappear within, then continued on their way down the hill in silence.
“Blimy,” said one suddenly, “some of these old civilians 'ave come it balmy on the crumpet since the war began. Give me the trenches!”
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