The Burning Spear: Being the Experiences of Mr. John Lavender in the Time of War. Galsworthy John

‘eard you.”

      “But you are. I don’t know what the country would do without you. Your solid qualities, your imperturbable bonhomie, your truly British tenderness towards – ”

      “Pass away!” said the officer.

      “I am only repeating what we all say of you,” rejoined Mr. Lavender reproachfully.

      “Did you ‘ear me say ‘Move on,’” said the officer; “or must I make you an example?”

      “YOU are the example,” said Mr. Lavender warmly.

      “Any more names,” returned the officer, “and I take you to the station.” And he moved out into the traffic. Puzzled by his unfriendliness Mr. Lavender resumed his search, and, arriving at the door indicated, went in. A dark, dusty, deserted corridor led him nowhere, till he came on a little girl in a brown frock, with her hair down her back.

      “Can you tell me, little one – ” he said, laying his hand on her head.

      “Chuck it!” said the little girl.

      “No, no!” responded Mr. Lavender, deeply hurt. “Can you tell me where I can find the Minister?”

      “‘Ave you an appointment?

      “No; but I wrote to him. He should expect me.”

      “Wot nyme?”

      “John Lavender. Here is my card.”

      “I’ll tyke it in. Wyte ‘ere!”

      “Wonderful!” mused Mr. Lavender; “the patriotic impulse already stirring in these little hearts! What was the stanza of that patriotic poet?

      “‘Lives not a babe who shall not feel the pulse

      Of Britain’s need beat wild in Britain’s wrist.

      And, sacrificial, in the world’s convulse

      Put up its lips to be by Britain kissed.’

      “So young to bring their lives to the service of the country!”

      “Come on,” said the little girl, reappearing suddenly; “e’ll see you.”

      Mr. Lavender entered a room which had a considerable resemblance to the office of a lawyer save for the absence of tomes. It seemed furnished almost exclusively by the Minister, who sat with knees crossed, in a pair of large round tortoiseshell spectacles, which did not, however, veil the keenness of his eyes. He was a man with close cropped grey hair, a broad, yellow, clean-shaven face, and thrusting grey eyes.

      “Mr. Lavender,” he said, in a raw, forcible voice; “sit down, will you?”

      “I wrote to you,” began our hero, “expressing the wish to offer myself as a speaker.”

      “Ah!” said the Minister. “Let’s see – Lavender, Lavender. Here’s your letter.” And extracting a letter from a file he read it, avoiding with difficulty his tortoise-shell spectacles. “You want to stump the country? M.A., Barrister, and Fellow of the Zoological. Are you a good speaker?”

      “If zeal – ” began Mr. Lavender.

      “That’s it; spark! We’re out to win this war, sir.”

      “Quite so,” began Mr. Lavender. “If devotion – ”

      “You’ll have to use gas,” said the Minister; “and we don’t pay.”

      “Pay!” cried Mr. Lavender with horror; “no, indeed!”

      The Minister bent on him a shrewd glance.

      “What’s your line? Anything particular, or just general patriotism? I recommend that; but you’ll have to put some punch into it, you know.”

      “I have studied all the great orators of the war, sir,” said Mr. Lavender, “and am familiar with all the great writers on, it. I should form myself on them; and if enthusiasm – ”

      “Quite!” said the Minister. “If you want any atrocities we can give you them. No facts and no figures; just general pat.”

      “I shall endeavour – ” began Mr. Lavender.

      “Well, good-bye,” said the Minister, rising. “When do you start?”

      Mr. Lavender rose too. “To-morrow,” he said, “if I can get inflated.”

      The Minister rang a bell.

      “You’re on your own, mind,” he said. “No facts; what they want is ginger. Yes, Mr. Japes?”

      And seeing that the Minister was looking over his tortoiseshell. spectacles at somebody behind him, Mr. Lavender turned and went out. In the corridor he thought, “What terseness! How different from the days when Dickens wrote his ‘Circumlocution Office’! Punch!” And opening the wrong door, he found himself in the presence of six little girls in brown frocks, sitting against the walls with their thumbs in their mouths.

      “Oh!” he said, “I’m afraid I’ve lost my way.”

      The eldest of the little girls withdrew a thumb.

      “What d’yer want?”

      “The door,” said Mr. Lavender.

      “Second on the right.”

      “Goodbye,” said Mr. Lavender.

      The little girls did not answer. And he went out thinking, “These children are really wonderful! What devotion one sees! And yet the country is not yet fully roused!”

      II

      THE VALET

      Joe Petty stood contemplating the car which, purchased some fifteen years before had not been used since the war began. Birds had nested in its hair. It smelled of mould inside; it creaked from rust. “The Guv’nor must be cracked,” he thought, “to think we can get anywhere in this old geyser. Well, well, it’s summer; if we break down it won’t break my ‘eart. Government job – better than diggin’ or drillin’. Good old Guv!” So musing, he lit his pipe and examined the recesses beneath the driver’s seat. “A bottle or three,” he thought, “in case our patriotism should get us stuck a bit off the beaten; a loaf or two, some ‘oney in a pot, and a good old ‘am.

      “A life on the rollin’ road – ’ ‘Ow they can give ‘im the job I can’t think!” His soliloquy was here interrupted by the approach of his wife, bearing a valise.

      “Don’t you wish you was comin’, old girl?” he remarked to her lightly.

      “I do not; I’m glad to be shut of you. Keep his feet dry. What have you got under there?”

      Joe Petty winked.

      “What a lumbering great thing it looks!” said Mrs. Petty, gazing upwards.

      “Ah!” returned her husband thoughtfully, we’ll ‘ave the population round us without advertisement. And taking the heads of two small boys who had come up, he knocked them together in an absent-minded fashion.

      “Well,” said Mrs. Petty, “I can’t waste time. Here’s his extra set of teeth. Don’t lose them. Have you got your own toothbrush? Use it, and behave yourself. Let me have a line. And don’t let him get excited.” She tapped her forehead.

      “Go away, you boys; shoo!”

      The boys, now six in number, raised a slight cheer; for at that moment Mr. Lavender, in a broad-brimmed grey felt hat and a holland dust-coat, came out through his garden-gate carrying a pile of newspapers and pamphlets so large that his feet, legs, and hat alone were visible.

      “Open the door, Joe!” he said, and stumbled into the body of the vehicle. A shrill cheer rose from the eight boys, who could see him through the further window. Taking this for an augury Of success, Mr. Lavender removed his hat, and putting his head through the window, thus addressed the ten boys:

      “I thank you. The occasion is one which I shall ever remember. The Government has charged me with the great task of rousing our country in days which