Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (643 page)

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 out of the Service in ‘85 for ragging.’ He descended the stairs and The Infant rolled appealing eyes at him.

‘I heard what you youngsters have confessed,’ he began; and in his orderly-room voice, which is almost as musical as his singing one, he tongue-lashed those lads in such sort as was a privilege and a revelation to listen to. Till then they had known him almost as a relative — we were all brevet, deputy, or acting uncles to The Infant’s friends’ brood — a sympathetic elder brother, sound on finance. They had never met Colonel A.L. Corkran in the Chair of Justice. And while he flayed and rent and blistered, and wiped the floor with them, and while they looked for hiding-places and found none on that floor, I remembered (1) the up-ending of ‘Dolly’ Macshane at Dalhousie, which came perilously near a court-martial on Second-Lieutenant Corkran; (2) the burning of Captain Parmilee’s mosquito-curtains on a hot Indian dawn, when the captain slept in his garden, and Lieutenant Corkran, smoking, rode by after a successful whist night at the club; (3) the introduction of an ekka pony, with ekka attached, into a brother captain’s tent on a frosty night in Peshawur, and the removal of tent, pole, cot, and captain all wrapped in chilly canvas; (4) the bath that was given to Elliot-Hacker on his own verandah — his lady-love saw it and broke off the engagement, which was what the Mess intended, she being an Eurasian — and the powdering all over of Elliot-Hacker with flour and turmeric from the bazaar.

When he took breath I realised how only Satan can rebuke sin. The good don’t know enough.

‘Now,’ said Stalky, ‘get out! No, not out of the house. Go to your rooms.’

‘I’ll send your dinner, Bobby,’ said The Infant. ‘Ipps!’

Nothing had ever been known to astonish Ipps, the butler. He entered and withdrew with his charges. After all, he had suffered from Bobby since Bobby’s twelfth year.

‘They’ve done everything they could, short of murder,’ said The Infant. ‘You know what this’ll mean for the regiment. It isn’t as if we were dealing with Sahibs nowadays.’

‘Quite so.’ Stalky turned on me. ‘Go and release the bagman,’ he said.

‘‘Tisn’t my garage,’ I pleaded. ‘I’m company. Besides, he’ll probably slay me. He’s been in the sack for hours.’

‘Look here,’ Stalky thundered — the years had fallen from us both — ’is your — am I commandin’ or are you? We’ve got to pull this thing off somehow or other. Cut over to the garage, make much of him, and bring him over. He’s dining with us. Be quick, you dithering ass!’

I was quick enough; but as I ran through the shrubbery I wondered how one extricates the subaltern of the present day from a sack without hurting his feelings. Anciently, one slit the end open, taking off his boots first, and then fled.

Imagine a sumptuously-equipped garage, half-filled by The Infant’s cobalt-blue, grey-corded silk limousine and a mud-splashed, cheap, hooded four-seater. In the back seat of this last, conceive a fiery chestnut head emerging from a long oat-sack; an implacable white face, with blazing eyes and jaws that worked ceaselessly at the loop of the string that was drawn round its neck. The effect, under the electrics, was that of a demon caterpillar wrathfully spinning its own cocoon.

‘Good evening!’ I said genially. ‘Let me help you out of that.’ The head glared. ‘We’ve got ‘em,’ I went on. ‘They came to quite the wrong shop for this sort of game — quite the wrong shop.’

‘Game!’ said the head. ‘We’ll see about that. Let me out.’

It was not a promising voice for one so young, and, as usual, I had no knife.

‘You’ve chewed the string so I can’t find the knot,’ I said as I worked with trembling fingers at the cater-pillar’s throat. Something untied itself, and Mr. Wontner wriggled out, collarless, tieless, his coat split half down his back, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his watch-chain snapped, his trousers rucked well above the knees.

‘Where,’ he said grimly, as he pulled them down, ‘are Master Trivett and Master Eames?’

‘Both arrested, of course,’ I replied. ‘Sir George’ — I gave The Infant’s full title as a baronet — ’is a Justice of the Peace. He’d be very pleased if you dined with us. There’s a room ready for you.’ I picked up the sack.

‘D’you know,’ said Mr. Wontner through his teeth — but the car’s bonnet was between us, ‘that this looks to me like — I won’t say conspiracy
yet
, but uncommonly like a confederacy.’

When injured souls begin to distinguish and qualify, danger is over. So I grew bold.

‘‘Sorry you take it that way,’ I said. ‘You come here in trouble — ’

‘My good fool,’ he interrupted, with a half-hysterical snort, ‘let me assure you that the trouble will recoil on the other men!’

‘As you please,’ I went on. ‘Anyhow, the chaps who got you into trouble are arrested, and the magistrate who arrested ‘em asks you to dinner. Shall I tell him you’re walking back to Aldershot?’

He picked some fluff off his waistcoat.

‘I’m in no position to dictate terms yet,’ he said. ‘That will come later. I must probe into this a little further. In the meantime, I accept your invitation without prejudice — if you understand what that means.’

I understood and began to be happy again. Sub-alterns without prejudices were quite new to me. ‘All right,’ I replied; ‘if you’ll go up to the house, I’ll turn out the lights.’

He walked off stiffly, while I searched the sack and the car for the impounded correspondence that Bobby had talked of. I found nothing except, as the police reports say, the trace of a struggle. He had kicked half the varnish off the back of the front seat, and had bitten the leather padding where he could reach it. Evidently a purposeful and hard-mouthed young gentleman.

‘Well done!’ said Stalky at the door. ‘So he didn’t slay you. Stop laughing. He’s talking to The Infant now about depositions. Look here, you’re nearest his size. Cut up to your rooms and give Ipps your dinner things and a clean shirt for him.’

‘But I haven’t got another suit,’ I said.

‘You! I’m not thinking of you! We’ve got to conciliate
him
. He’s in filthy rags and a filthy temper, and he won’t feel decent till he’s dressed. You’re the sacrifice. Be quick! And clean socks, remember!’

Once more I trotted up to my room, changed into unseasonable unbrushed grey tweeds, put studs into a clean shirt, dug out fresh socks, handed the whole garniture over to Ipps, and returned to the hall just in time to hear Stalky say, ‘I’m a stockbroker, but I have the honour to hold His Majesty’s commission in a Territorial battalion.’ Then I felt as though I might be beginning to be repaid.