Evening star., 1930-06-22

CHAPTER xxIII.

ME uuAOuJ nAu never D&en so
brightly illuminated before. No
fewer than five candles stood on
Il the table, thrust into the mouths
OF empty bottles and two more
were stuck with their own grease on
to narrow Stats OF wood wedged into
crevices in the wall Their hickering
light glistened on the oozing damp OF
the sandbags and the wooden sup
ports which held up the rough beams
Of the corrugated iron and the piled
up earth which gave the dugout some
protection from enemy shell-fire. Almost
every inch Of the sugar-box table was
covered with dirty plates and mugs
and towering above 1t all were two
aristocratic bottles of champagne. Hib-
bert, his usually pale face flushed and
his hair untidy, sat on Stanhope'S bed
while Stanhope himself and Trotter his
tunic generously unbuttoned. balanced
themselves on the wooden cases which
played the part OF chairs. The Joint
supply of limericks and dirty stories
was coming to an end, but the least
remark sufficed to send HILBERT of into
h-pitched, excited laughter His
thin, white fingers nervously twitched
the ash from his cigar, while there was
reaSsuring and comfortable air about
Trotter's cigar, embedded in his podgy
fingers. Stanhope, his elbows leaning
on two small vacant patches of table.
egged the others on with bitter anec-
doteS of his last leave in Paris.
Trotter felt that somebody some
where was trying to be offensive. With
immense dignity he did up one Of the
buttons of his tunic. then he glared
at HILBERT reprovingly.
You've 'ad too much champagne,
you ave" he declared, but HILBERT
noticed neither the words nor the look,
for he had pulled out his pocket case
and produced some picture post cards.
I've never shown you these, have
~" he asked, and he handed them
over to Stanhope. From among them
fell a letter which lay for q minute
or two among the cups and plates
before he noticed 1t and put 1t back,
rather shamefacedly, into his pocket.
1t was a letter he had had only that
morning from his mother In Chelten-
ham, a letter so full Of praise for
his courage out here in France that
he would have torn it up in anger
only for some indefinable reason he
had not dared to do so.
Sitting in her rather poorly fur
nished lonely little house, Mrs. Hib-
bert must sometimes have wondered
about her son, have read between the
lines of his letters. On her side of
the family most Of the men had been
in the Army and she would look up
at the miniatures Of them which hung
in the alcove near the fireplace for
fresh courage and fresh belief Her
husbands health had never allowed
him to think Of a strenuous career,
but he, too, had concentrated his hopes
on this one son, whom, with so much
difficulty, they had been able to send
to a public school as q first step
toward Woolwich and the Royal En-
gineers. And when the time and the
chance came he had so definitely
sought for excuses to put of being
sent on foreign service that his mother
must sometimes have wondered. She
and explanations when she talked
about him to the other women whom
she met at sewing parties. There had
been his strained ankle, the result of
fall of his horse at his first Jump
at the riding school, which had be-
come almost epic as she told of 1t
while a group of them sat in q circle
sewing tale eye-pieces into useless gas
helmets. Influenza had very nearly
become pneumonia in her account of
1t in a room where q dozen women
NNIC Duouy IOllulb DdiudBcD 1OE JAC
local v. A. d. hospital. His first ad-
ventures at the front, which, out of
affection for her, he had in no wise
exaggerated. had been colored and
heightened by her imagination. so that
even the tradespeople to whom she
gave her modest orders half expected
to read that he had been awarded the
Victoria Cross. And yet, perhaps, all
this boasting, even this letter which
he now held, had been written as
much to encourage herself as her son.
Perhaps the praise 1t contained was
the measure of her own lack OF con-
fldence in him. He thrust the pages
of neat sloping writing back into his
pocket, and, with a queer feeling of
hopeless loneliness, turned his atten-
tion to the welcome given TO his pho
tographs.
where did you get them?" asked
Stanhope.
I'm Bethune." He peered over Stan
hopes shoulder. She's all right, isn't
she?"
TOO fat"
"Oh, don't know. I wouldn't mind
meeting her"
Much too fat. What do you think,
Trotter2"
Trotter propped his cigar stump up
against a plate, took his pince-nez
carefully out Of his breast pocket, bal
anced them on his fat nose and studied
the photograph.
"All right, isn't she?" asked HILBERT
anxlously.
We'll, I don't know. II you ask
me, I'd just as soon see a good pic
ture Of Margate Pier"
Hilbert made an exclamation of dis
gust. You don't understand anything
about art" he stated, and turned back
to Stanhope, who was examining an
other post card.
Legs too thin" he commented.
Aren't they, Trotter?"
''Scraggy, call EN-" said Trotter
after due reflection.
Stanhope came to the last Of the
photographs. She's all right" he
agreed, and then laid it down with
the others on the table
clared the delighted HILBERT. Ever
drome? Couple of damn fine girls in
that-twins. Did you see 'em, skip
per?"
Stanhope shook his head YEARLY
Il don't know. Seen stacks of shows
can't remember them all" He made
sure that the champagne bottles were
empty, but frightened up when he re-
membered whisky. He shouted to
Mason to bring a bottle.
What? Whisky on top of cham
pagne?" asked Trotter, with the least
infection of reproach in his voice.
Why not? It's all right"
We'll, 1t doesn't sound right TO me.
NAA