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a new war disease. I’ll send you the quinine. Good morning.
“Wot oh!” said Joe to his wife, when they were left alone with the unconscious body of their master. “Poor old Guv! Watch and pray!”
“However could you have given him such a thing?”
“Wet outside, wet your inside,” muttered Joe sulkily, “‘as always been my motto. Sorry I give ‘im the honey. Who’d ha’ thought the product of an ‘armless insect could ‘a done ‘im in like this?”
Fiddle said Mrs. Petty. “In my belief it’s come on through reading those newspapers. If I had my way I’d bum the lot. Can I trust you to watch him while I go and get the bottles filled?”
Joe drooped his lids over his greenish eyes, and, with a whisk of her head, his wife left the room.
“Gawd ‘elp us!” thought Joe, gazing at his unconscious master, and fingering his pipe; “‘ow funny women are! If I was to smoke in ‘ere she’d have a fit. I’ll just ‘ave a whiff in the window, though!” And, leaning out, he drew the curtains to behind him and lighted his pipe.
The sound of Blink gnawing her bone beneath the bed alone broke the silence.
“I could do with a pint o’ bitter,” thought Joe; and, noticing the form of the weekly gardener down below, he said softly:
“‘Ello, Bob!”
“‘Ello?” replied the gardener. “‘Ow’s yours?”
“Nicely.”
“Goin’ to ‘ave some rain?”
“Ah!”
“What’s the matter with that?”
“Good for the crops.”
“Missis well?”
“So, so.”
“Wish mine was.”
“Wot’s the matter with her?”
“Busy!” replied Joe, sinking his voice. Never ‘ave a woman permanent; that’s my experience.
The gardener did not reply, but stood staring at the lilac-bush below Joe Petty’s face. He was a thin man, rather like an old horse.
“Do you think we can win this war?” resumed Joe.
“Dunno,” replied the gardener apathetically.
“We seem to be goin’ back nicely all the time.”
Joe wagged his head. “You’ve ‘it it,” he said. And, jerking his head back towards the room behind him, “Guv’nor’s got it now.”
“What?”
“The new disease.”
“What new disease?”
“Wy, the Run-abaht-an-tell-’em-’ow-to-do-it.”
“Ah!”
“‘E’s copped it fair. In bed.”
“You don’t say!”
“Not ‘alf!” Joe sank his voice still lower. “Wot’ll you bet me I don’t ketch it soon?”
The gardener uttered a low gurgle.
“The cats ‘ave been in that laylock,” he replied, twisting off a broken branch. “I’ll knock off now for a bit o’ lunch.”
But at that moment the sound of a voice speaking as it might be from a cavern, caused him and Joe Petty to stare at each other as if petrified.
“Wot is it?” whispered Joe at last.
The gardener jerked his head towards a window on the ground floor.
“Someone in pain,” he said.
“Sounds like the Guv’nor’s voice.”
“Ah!” said the gardener.
“Alf a mo’!” And, drawing in his head, Joe peered through the curtains. The bed was empty and the door open.
“Watch it! ‘E’s loose!” he called to the gardener, and descended the stairs at a run.
In fact, Mr. Lavender had come out of his coma at the words, “D’you think we can win this war?” And, at once conscious that he had not read the morning papers, had got out of bed. Sallying forth just as he was he had made his way downstairs, followed by Blink. Seeing the journals lying on the chest in the hall, he took all five to where he usually went at this time of the morning, and sat down to read. Once there, the pain he was in, added to the disorder occasioned in his brain by the five leaders, caused him to give forth a summary of their contents, while Blink pressed his knees with her chin whenever the rising of his voice betokened too great absorption, as was her wont when she wanted him to feed her. Joe Petty joined the gardener in considerable embarrassment.
“Shan’t I not ‘alf cop it from the Missis?” he murmured. “The door’s locked.”
The voice of Mr. Lavender maintained its steady flow, rising and falling with the tides of his pain and his feelings. “What, then, is our duty? Is it not plain and simple? We require every man in the Army, for that is the ‘sine qua non’ of victory. We must greatly reinforce the ranks of labour in our shipyards – ships, ships, ships, always more ships; for without them we shall infallibly be defeated. We cannot too often repeat that we must see the great drama that is being played before our eyes steadily, and we must see it whole… Not a man must be taken from the cultivation of our soil, for on that depends our very existence as a nation. Without abundant labour of the right sort on the land we cannot hope to cope with the menace of the pirate submarine. We must have the long vision, and not be scuppered by the fears of those who would deplete our most vital industry… In munition works,” wailed Mr. Lavender’s voice, as he reached the fourth leader, “we still require the maximum of effort, and a considerable reinforcement of manpower will in that direction be necessary to enable us to establish the overwhelming superiority in the air and in guns which alone can ensure the defeat of our enemies…” He reached the fifth in what was almost a scream. “Every man up to sixty must be mobilized but here we would utter the most emphatic caveat. In the end this war will be won by the country whose financial position stands the strain best. The last copper bullet will be the deciding factor. Our economic strength must on no account be diminished. We cannot at this time of day afford to deplete the ranks of trade and let out the very life-blood in our veins.” “We must see,” groaned Mr. Lavender, “the problem steadily, and see it whole.”
“Poor old geyser!” said the gardener; “‘e do seem bad.”
“Old me!” said Joe.
“I’ll get on the sill and see what I can do through the top o’ the window.”
He got up, and, held by the gardener, put his arm through. There was the sound of considerable disturbance, and through the barking of Blink, Mr. Lavender’s voice was heard again: “Stanch in the middle of the cataclysm, unruffled by the waters of heaven and hell, let us be captains of our souls. Down, Blink, down!”
“He’s out!” said Joe, rejoining the gardener. “Now for it, before my missis comes!” and he ran into the house.
Mr. Lavender was walking dazedly in the hall with the journals held out before him.
“Joe,” he said, catching sight of his servant, “get the car ready. I must be in five places at once, for only thus can we defeat the greatest danger which ever threatened the future of civilization.”
“Right-o, sir,” replied Joe; and, waiting till his master turned round, he seized him round the legs, and lifting that thin little body ascended the stairs, while Mr. Lavender, with the journals waving fanlike in his hands, his white hair on end, and his legs kicking, endeavoured to turn his head to see what agency was moving him.
At the top of the stairs they came on Mrs. Petty, who, having Scotch blood in her veins, stood against the wall to let them pass, with a hot bottle in either hand. Having placed Mr. Lavender in his bed and drawn the clothes