A Diversity of Creatures. Rudyard Kipling
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at last, our linked desires
Dragged us up to day,
When, at last, our souls were rid
Of what that Night had shown,
Helen passed from me, she did,
Helen all alone!
Let her go and find a mate,
As I will find a bride,
Knowing naught of Limbo Gate
Or Who are penned inside.
There is knowledge God forbid
More than one should own.
So Helen went from me, she did,
Oh my soul, be glad she did!
Helen all alone!
The Honours of War
A hooded motor had followed mine from the Guildford Road up the drive to The Infant's ancestral hall, and had turned off to the stables.
'We're having a quiet evening together. Stalky's upstairs changing. Dinner's at 7.15 sharp, because we're hungry. His room's next to yours,' said The Infant, nursing a cobwebbed bottle of Burgundy.
Then I found Lieutenant-Colonel A.L. Corkran, I.A., who borrowed a collar-stud and told me about the East and his Sikh regiment.
'And are your subalterns as good as ever?' I asked.
'Amazin'-simply amazin'! All I've got to do is to find 'em jobs. They keep touchin' their caps to me and askin' for more work. 'Come at me with their tongues hangin' out. I used to run the other way at their age.'
'And when they err?' said I. 'I suppose they do sometimes?'
'Then they run to me again to weep with remorse over their virgin peccadilloes. I never cuddled my Colonel when I was in trouble. Lambs-positive lambs!'
'And what do you say to 'em?'
'Talk to 'em like a papa. Tell 'em how I can't understand it, an' how shocked I am, and how grieved their parents'll be; and throw in a little about the Army Regulations and the Ten Commandments. 'Makes one feel rather a sweep when one thinks of what one used to do at their age. D'you remember-'
We remembered together till close on seven o'clock. As we went out into the gallery that runs round the big hall, we saw The Infant, below, talking to two deferential well-set-up lads whom I had known, on and off, in the holidays, any time for the last ten years. One of them had a bruised cheek, and the other a weeping left eye.
'Yes, that's the style,' said Stalky below his breath. 'They're brought up on lemon-squash and mobilisation text-books. I say, the girls we knew must have been much better than they pretended they were; for I'll swear it isn't the fathers.'
'But why on earth did you do it?' The Infant was shouting. 'You know what it means nowadays.'
'Well, sir,' said Bobby Trivett, the taller of the two, 'Wontner talks too much, for one thing. He didn't join till he was twenty-three, and, besides that, he used to lecture on tactics in the ante-room. He said Clausewitz was the only tactician, and he illustrated his theories with cigar-ends. He was that sort of chap, sir.'
'And he didn't much care whose cigar-ends they were,' said Eames, who was shorter and pinker.
'And then he would talk about the 'Varsity,' said Bobby. 'He got a degree there. And he told us we weren't intellectual. He told the Adjutant so, sir. He was just that kind of chap, sir, if you understand.'
Stalky and I backed behind a tall Japanese jar of chrysanthemums and listened more intently.
'Was all the Mess in it, or only you two?' The Infant demanded, chewing his moustache.
'The Adjutant went to bed, of course, sir, and the Senior Subaltern said he wasn't going to risk his commission-they're awfully down on ragging nowadays in the Service-but the rest of us-er-attended to him,' said Bobby.
'Much?' The Infant asked. The boys smiled deprecatingly.
'Not in the ante-room, sir,' said Eames. 'Then he called us silly children, and went to bed, and we sat up discussin', and I suppose we got a bit above ourselves, and we-er-'
'Went to his quarters and drew him?' The Infant suggested.
'Well, we only asked him to get out of bed, and we put his helmet and sword-belt on for him, and we sung him bits out of the Blue Fairy Book-the cram-book on Army organisation. Oh yes, and then we asked him to drink old Clausewitz's health, as a brother-tactician, in milk-punch and Worcester sauce, and so on. We had to help him a little there. He bites. There wasn't much else that time; but, you know, the War Office is severe on ragging these days.' Bobby stopped with a lopsided smile.
'And then,' Eames went on, 'then Wontner said we'd done several pounds' worth of damage to his furniture.'
'Oh,' said The Infant, 'he's that kind of man, is he? Does he brush his teeth?'
'Oh yes, he's quite clean all over!' said Trivett; 'but his father's a wealthy barrister.'
'Solicitor,' Eames corrected, 'and so this Mister Wontner is out for our blood. He's going to make a first-class row about it-appeal to the War Office-court of inquiry-spicy bits in the papers, and songs in the music-halls. He told us so.'
'That's the sort of chap he is,' said Trivett. 'And that means old Dhurrah-bags, our Colonel, 'll be put on half-pay, same as that case in the Scarifungers' Mess; and our Adjutant'll have to exchange, like it was with that fellow in the 73rd Dragoons, and there'll be misery all round. He means making it too hot for us, and his papa'll back him.'
'Yes, that's all very fine,' said The Infant; 'but I left the Service about the time you were born, Bobby. What's it got to do with me?'
'Father told me I was always to go to you when I was in trouble, and you've been awfully good to me since he …'
'Better stay to dinner.' The Infant mopped his forehead.
'Thank you very much, but the fact is-' Trivett halted.
'This afternoon, about four, to be exact-' Eames broke in.
'We went over to Wontner's quarters to talk things over. The row only happened last night, and we found him writing letters as hard as he could to his father-getting up his case for the War Office, you know. He read us some of 'em, but I'm not a good judge of style. We tried to ride him off quietly-apologies and so forth-but it was the milk-punch and mayonnaise that defeated us.'
'Yes, he wasn't taking anything except pure revenge,' said Eames.
'He said he'd make an example of the regiment, and he was particularly glad that he'd landed our Colonel. He told us so. Old Dhurrah-bags don't sympathise with Wontner's tactical lectures. He says Wontner ought to learn manners first, but we thought-' Trivett turned to Eames, who was less a son of the house than himself, Eames's father being still alive.
'Then,' Eames went on, 'he became rather noisome, and we thought we might as well impound the correspondence'-he wrinkled his swelled left eye-'and after that, we got him to take a seat in my car.'
'He was in a sack, you know,' Trivett explained. 'He wouldn't go any other way. But we didn't hurt him.'
'Oh no! His head's sticking out quite clear, and'-Eames rushed the fence-'we've put him in your garage-er pendente lite.'
'My garage!' Infant's voice nearly broke with horror.
'Well, father always told me if I was in trouble, Uncle George-'
Bobby's sentence died away as The Infant collapsed on a divan and said no more than, 'Your commissions!' There was a long, long silence.
'What price your latter-day lime-juice subaltern?' I whispered to Stalky behind my hand. His nostrils expanded, and he drummed on the edge of the Japanese jar with his knuckles.
'Confound your father, Bobby!' The Infant groaned. 'Raggin's a criminal offence these days. It isn't as if-'
'Come on,' said Stalky. 'That was my old Line battalion in Egypt. They nearly slung old Dhurrah-bags and me