CHAPTER XXV

RED IN THE MORNING

Joe Burt's rhetoric might not affect the Colonel greatly; but the

impressions of Mr. Geddes, conveyed to him quietly a few days later in

friendly conversation, were a different matter.

The Presbyterian minister was a scholar, broad-minded, open, honest.

He had moreover finished his education at Berlin University, and had,

as the Colonel knew, ever since his student days maintained touch with

his German friends. Mr. Geddes had come home convinced that Germany

was not seeking a quarrel.

"Hamburg stands to lose by war," he told the Colonel, "And Hamburg

knows it."

"What about Berlin?" the other asked.

"Berlin's militarist," the other admitted. "And Berlin's watching

Ulster as a cat watches a mouse--you find that everywhere; professors,

soldiers, men in the street, even my old host, Papa Schumacher, the

carpenter, was agog about it.--Was Ulster in Shetland?--Was the Ulster

Army black?--Would it attack England?--Well, our War Office must know

all about the stir there. And that makes me increasingly confident

that something's happened to eliminate whatever German menace there may

ever have been."

"Exactly what Trupp was saying the other day," the Colonel commented.

"Something's happened. You and I don't know what. You and I never do.

Bonar Law and the rest of em wouldn't be working up a Civil War on this

scale unless they were certain Germany was muzzled; and what's more the

Government wouldn't let em. The politicians may be fools, but they

aren't lunatics."

A few evenings after this talk as the Colonel sat after supper in the

loggia with his wife, overlooking the sea wandering white beneath the

moon, he ruminated between puffs upon the political situation, domestic

and international, with a growing sense of confidence at his heart.

Indeed there was much to confirm his hopes.

The year had started with Lloyd George's famous pronouncement that the

relations between Germany and England had never been brighter. Then

again there was the point Trupp had made: the astonishing attitude of

the Unionist leaders, and the still more astonishing tolerance of the

Government. Lastly, and far more significant from the old soldier's

point of view, there was the action of Mr. Geddes's mystery-man who was

no mystery-man at all. Everybody on the outermost edge of affairs knew

the name of the General in question. Every porter at the military

clubs could tell you who he was. Asquith had never made any bones

about it. Redmond and Dillon had named him to Mr. Geddes. Yet if

anybody could gauge the military situation on the Continent it was

surely the man who, as Mr. Geddes had truly pointed out, had

specialized in co-ordinating our Expeditionary Force with the Armies of

France in the case of an attack by Germany. There he was sitting at

the War Office, as he had sat for years past, in touch with the English

Cabinet, _lié_ with the French General Staff, his ear at the telephone

listening to every rumour in every camp in Europe, and primed by a

Secret Service so able that it had doped the public at home and every

chancellery abroad to believe that it was the last word in official

stupidity. This was the man who had thrown in his lot with the gang of

speculating politicians who had embarked upon the campaign that had so

undermined discipline in the commissioned ranks of the Army that for

the first time in history a British Government could no longer trust

its officers to do their duty without question.

Now no one could say this man was hot-headed; nobody could say he was a

fool. Moreover he was a distinguished soldier and to call his

patriotism in question was simply ridiculous, as even Geddes admitted.

The Colonel had throughout steadfastly refused to discuss with friend

or foe the ethics of this officer's attitude, and its effect on the

reputation of the Army. But of one thing he was certain. No man in

that officer's position of trust and responsibility would gamble with

the destinies of his country--a gamble that might involve hundreds and

thousands of innocent lives. His action might be reprehensible--many

people did not hesitate to describe it in plainer terms; but he would

never have taken it in view of its inevitable reaction on military and

political opinion on the Continent unless he had been certain that the

German attack, which he of all men had preached for so long as

inevitable, would not mature or would not mature as yet.

What then was the only possible inference?

"Something had happened."

The words his mind had been repeating uttered themselves aloud.

"What's that, my Jocko?" asked Mrs. Lewknor.

The Colonel stretched his long legs, took his pipe out of his mouth,

and sighed.

"If nothing has happened by Christmas 1915 I shall resign the

secretaryship of the League and return with joy to the garden and the

history of the regiment." He rose in the brilliant dusk like a

spectre. "Come on, my lass!" he said. "I would a plan unfold."

She took his arm and they strolled across the lawn past the hostel

towards the solid darkness of the Downs which enfolded them.

The long white house stood still and solitary in the great coombe that

brimmed with darkness and was crowned with multitudinous stars. Washed

by the moon, and warm with a suggestion of human busyness, the hostel

seemed to be stirring in a happy sleep, as though conscious of the good

work it was doing.

Mrs. Lewknor paused to look at it, a sense of comfort at her heart.

The children's beds out on the balcony could be seen; and the nurses

moving in the rooms behind. Groups of parents, down from London for

the week-end, strolled the lawn. A few older patients still lounged in

deck-chairs on the terrace, while from within the house came the sound

of laughter and someone playing rag-time. The little lady regarded the

work of her hands not without a just sense of satisfaction. The hostel

was booming. It was well-established now and had long justified

itself. She was doing good work and earning honest money. This year

she would not only pay for the grandson's schooling, but she hoped at

Christmas to make a start in reducing the mortgage.

"Well," she said, "what about it now, doubting Thomas?"

"Not so bad for a beginning," admitted the Colonel.

"Who's going to send Toby to Eton?" asked the lady, cruelly triumphant.

"And how?"

"Why, I am," replied the Colonel brightly--"out of my pension of five

bob a week minus income tax."

Hugging each other's arms, they climbed the bank to the vegetable

garden, which six years before had been turned up by the plough from

the turf which may have known the tread of Caesar's legionaries. The

raw oblong which had then patched the green with a lovely mauve was

already peopled with trees and bushes, and rank with green stuff. The

Colonel paused and sniffed.

"Mrs. Simpkins coming on ... I long to be back among my cabbages ... I

bet if I took these Orange Pippins in hand myself I'd win first prize

at the East Sussex Show.... That duffer, old Lingfield--He's no good."

They turned off into the yard where Mrs. Lewknor was erecting a garage,

now nearly finished. The Colonel paused and stared up at it.

"My dear," he said, "I've got an idea. We'll dig the Caspars out of

that hole in Old Town and put them in the rooms above the garage. I'll

take him on as gardener and odd-job man. He's a first-rate rough

gardener. He was showing me and Bobby his allotment only the other

day. And as you know, the solitary ambition of my old age has been to

have an old Hammer-man about me."

"And mine for you, my Jocko," mused Mrs. Lewknor, far more wary than

her impulsive husband. "There are only three rooms though, and she's

got four children already and is still only thirty or so."

The Colonel rattled on, undismayed.

"He'll be half a mile from the nearest pub here," he said.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Lewknor--"and further from the clutches of that

Burt man, who's twice as bad as any pub."

"Ha, ha!" jeered the Colonel. "So you're coming round to my way of

thinking at last, are you?"

Next evening, the Colonel, eager always as a youth to consummate his

purpose, bicycled with his wife through Paradise to Old Town.

At the corner opposite the Rectory they met Alf Caspar, who was clearly

in high feather. The Colonel dismounted for a word with the convener

of the League.

"Well, Caspar," he said. "So you've got your licence from the Watch

Committee, I hear."

Alf purred.

"Yes, sir. All O.K.--down to the men that'll blow the horn to give em

a bit o music."

"When do you start?"

"Bank Holiday, sir. I was just coming up to tell mother we were

through. Last char-a-banc came this afternoon--smart as paint."

The Colonel and Mrs. Lewknor walked on towards Church Street. At

Billing's Corner, waiting for the bus, was Edward Caspar. He was

peering at a huge placard advertising expeditions by Caspar's

Road-touring Syndicate, to start on August 3rd.

The Colonel, mischievous as a child, must cross the road to his old

Trinity compeer.

"Your boy's getting on, Mr. Caspar," he observed quietly.

The old man made a clucking like a disturbed hen.

"Dreadful," he said. "Dreadful."

Mrs. Lewknor laid two fingers on his arm.

"Mr. Caspar," she said.

He glanced down at her like a startled elephant. Then he seemed to

thrill as though a wind of the spirit was blowing through him. The

roses of a forgotten youth bloomed for a moment in his mottled cheeks.

An incredible delicacy and tenderness inspired the face of this flabby

old man.

"Miss Solomons!" he said, and lifting her little hand kissed it.

The Colonel withdrew discreetly; and in a moment his wife joined him,

the lights dancing in her eyes.

"Pretty stiff!" grinned the Colonel--"in the public street and all."

They turned down Borough Lane by the _Star_ and knocked Ruth up.

She was ironing and did not seem best pleased to see the visitors.

Neither did Joe Burt, who was sitting by the fire with little Alice on

his knees.

The little lady ignored the engineer.

"Where are the other children?" she asked Ruth pleasantly.

"Where they oughrer be," Joe answered--"in bed."

The Colonel came to the rescue.

"Is Caspar anywhere about?" he asked.

"He's on his allotment, I reck'n," Ruth answered coldly. "Mr. Burt

joins him there most in general every evening."

"Yes," said Joe, "and was on the road now when A was interfered with."

He kissed little Alice, put her down, and rose. "Good evening,

Colonel." And he went out sullenly.

Mrs. Lewknor, aware that negotiations had not opened auspiciously, now

broached her project. Ruth, steadily ironing, never lifted her eyes.

She was clearly on the defensive, suspicious in her questions, evasive

and noncommittal in her replies. The Colonel became impatient.

"Mrs. Caspar might accept our offer--to oblige," he said at last.

Ruth deliberately laid down her iron, and challenged him: she said

nothing.

Mrs. Lewknor felt the tension.

"Well, think it over, will you?" she said to Ruth. "There's no hurry."

She went out and the Colonel followed.

"That man's the biggest humbug unhung even for a Labour man," snapped

the little lady viciously. "Preaching the Kingdom of Heaven on earth

and then this!"

"I'm not sure," replied the Colonel, "not sure. I think he's much the

same as most of us--an honest man who's run off the rails."

They were bicycling slowly along Victoria Drive. On the far side of

the allotments right under the wall of the Downs, blue in the evening,

a solitary figure was digging.

"The out-cast," said the Colonel.

Mrs. Lewknor dismounted from her bicycle and began wheeling it along

the unfenced earthen path between the gardens, towards the digger.

Ernie barely looked up, barely answered her salutation, wiping the

sweat off his brow with the back of his hand as he continued his

labour. The lady retired along the way she had come.

"There's something Christ-like about the feller," said the Colonel

quietly as they reached the road.

"Yes," the little lady answered. "Only he's brought his troubles on

his own head."

The Colonel drew up in haste.

"Hullo," he said, and began to read a newspaper placard, for which

class of literature he had a consuming passion.