The Burning Spear: Being the Experiences of Mr. John Lavender in the Time of War. Galsworthy John
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secured his dog to the handle of the door and disregarded the intensity of her gaze, Mr. Lavender walked back towards the Garden City with a pamphlet in one hand and a crutch-handled stick in the other. Restoring the ham to its nest behind his feet, Joe finished the bottle of Bass. “This is a bit of all right!” he thought dreamily. “Lie down, you bitch! Quiet! How can I get my nap while you make that row? Lie down! That’s better.”
Blink was silent, gnawing at her string. The smile deepened on Joe’s face, his head fell a little one side his mouth fell open a fly flew into it.
“Ah!” he thought, spitting it out; “dog’s quiet now.” He slept.
III
MR. LAVENDER ADDRESSES A CROWD OF HUNS
“‘Give them ginger!’” thought Mr. Lavender, approaching the first houses. “My first task, however, will be to collect them.”
“Can you tell me,” he said to a dustman, “where the market-place is?”
“Ain’t none.”
“The Town Hall, then?”
“Likewise.”
“What place is there, then,” said Mr. Lavender, “where people congregate?”
“They don’t.”
“Do they never hold public meetings here?”
“Ah!” said the dustman mysteriously.
“I wish to address them on the subject of babies.”
“Bill! Gent abaht babies. Where’d he better go?”
The man addressed, however, who carried a bag of tools, did not stop.
“You, ’ear?” said the dustman, and urging his horse, passed on.
“How rude!” thought Mr. Lavender. Something cold and wet was pressed against his hand, he felt a turmoil, and saw Blink moving round and round him, curved like a horseshoe, with a bit of string dangling from her white neck. At that moment of discouragement the sight of one who believed in him gave Mr. Lavender nothing but pleasure. “How wonderful dogs are!” he murmured. The sheep-dog responded by bounds and ear-splitting barks, so that two boys and a little girl wheeling a perambulator stopped to look and listen.
“She is like Mercury,” thought Mr. Lavender; and taking advantage of her interest in his hat, which she had knocked off in her effusions, he placed his hand on her head and crumpled her ear. The dog passed into an hypnotic trance, broken by soft grumblings of pleasure. “The most beautiful eyes in the world!” thought Mr. Lavender, replacing his hat; “the innocence and goodness of her face are entrancing.”
In his long holland coat, with his wide-brimmed felt hat all dusty, and the crutch-handled stick in his hand, he had already arrested the attention of five boys, the little girl with the perambulator, a postman, a maid-servant, and three old ladies.
“What a beautiful dog yours is!” said one of the old ladies; “dear creature! Are you a shepherd?”
Mr. Lavender removed his hat.
“No, madam,” he said; “a public speaker.”
“How foolish of me!” replied the old lady.
“Not at all, madam; the folly is mine.” And Mr. Lavender bowed. “I have come here to give an address on babies.”
The old lady looked at him shrewdly, and, saying something in a low voice to her companions, passed on, to halt again a little way off.
In the meantime the rumour that there was a horse down in the Clemenceau Road had spread rapidly, and more boys, several little girls, and three soldiers in blue, with red ties, had joined the group round Mr. Lavender, to whom there seemed something more than providential in this rapid assemblage. Looking round him for a platform from which to address them, he saw nothing but the low wall of the little villa garden outside which he was standing. Mounting on this, therefore, and firmly grasping the branch of a young acacia tree to steady himself, he stood upright, while Blink, on her hind legs, scratched at the wall, whining and sniffing his feet.
Encouraged by the low murmur of astonishment, which swelled idly into a shrill cheer, Mr. Lavender removed his hat, and spoke as follows:
“Fellow Britons, at this crisis in the history of our country I make no apology for addressing myself to the gathering I see around me. Here, in the cradle of patriotism and the very heart of Movements, I may safely assume that you are aware of the importance of Man-power. At a moment when every man of a certain age and over is wanted at the front, and every woman of marriageable years is needed in hospitals, in factories, on the land, or where not, we see as never before the paramount necessity of mobilizing the forces racial progress and increasing the numbers of our population. Not a man, not a woman can be spared from the great task in which they are now engaged, of defeating the common enemy. Side by side with our American cousins, with la belle France, and the Queen of the Adriatic, we are fighting to avert the greatest menace which ever threatened civilization. Our cruel enemies are strong and ruthless. While I have any say in this matter, no man or woman shall be withdrawn from the sacred cause of victory; better they should die to the last unit than that we should take our hands from the plough. But, ladies and gentlemen, we must never forget that in the place of every one who dies we must put two. Do not be content with ordinary measures; these are no piping times of peace. Never was there in the history of this country such a crying need for – for twins, if I may put it picturesquely. In each family, in each home where there are no families, let there be two babies where there was one, for thus only can we triumph over the devastation of this war.” At this moment the now considerable audience, which had hitherto been silent, broke into a shrill “‘Ear, ‘ear!” and Mr. Lavender, taking his hand from the acacia branch to silence them, fell off the wall into the garden. Seeing her master thus vanish, Blink, who had never ceased to whine and sniff his toes, leaped over and landed on his chest. Rising with difficulty, Mr. Lavender found himself in front of an elderly man with a commercial cast of countenance, who said: “You’re trespassing!”
“I am aware of it,” returned Mr. Lavender and I beg your pardon. It was quite inadvertent, however.
“Rubbish!” said the man.
“I fell off the wall.”
“Whose wall do you think it is?” said the man.
“How should I know?” said Mr. Lavender; “I am a stranger.”
“Out you go,” said the man, applying his boot to Blink.
Mr. Lavender’s eyes blazed. “You may insult me,” he said, “but you must not kick my dog, or I shall do you an injury.”
“Try!” said the man.
“I will,” responded Mr. Lavender, taking off his holland coat.
To what extremities he would have proceeded cannot be told, for at this moment the old lady who had taken him for a shepherd appeared on the path, tapping her forehead with finger.
“All right!” said the owner of the garden, “take him away.”
The old lady laced her hand within Mr. Lavender’s arm. “Come with me, sir,” she said, “and your nice doggie.”
Mr. Lavender, whose politeness to ladies was invariable, bowed, and resuming his coat accompanied her through the ‘garden gate. “He kicked my dog,” he said; “no action could be more despicable.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old lady soothingly. “Poor doggie!”
The crowd, who had hoped for better things, here gave vent to a prolonged jeer.
“Stop!” said Mr. Lavender; “I am going to take a collection.
“There, there!” said the old lady. “Poor man!”
“I don’t know what you mean by that, madam,” said Mr. Lavender, whose spirit was roused; “I shall certainly take a collection, in the interests of our population.” So saying he removed his hat, and disengaging his arm from the old lady’s hand,