“Five pounds a leg and that’s cheap, because I’m thinking of closing down the business anyhow.”
Mr. Todhunter was not a man to haggle when he was on a good thing. “Done,” he said.
Basil addressed the Connollies. “Well, children, this is your new headquarters.”
“Are we to “muck ‘em about?” asked Doris.
“That’s up to Mr. Todhunter. I’m handing you over to him now. You’ll he working for him in future.”
“Ain’t we never going to be with you again?” asked Doris.
“Never again, Doris. But you’ll find you like Mr. Todhunter just as much. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”
“Not as handsome as you.”
“No, perhaps not, but he’s got a fine little red moustache, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, it’s a lovely moustache,” Doris conceded; she looked from her old to her new master, critically. “But he’s shorter than you.”
“Dammit, girl,” said Basil impatiently. “Don’t you realize there’s a war on? We’ve all got to make sacrifices. There’s many a little girl would be very grateful for Mr. Todhunter. Look at his fine red nob.”
“Yes, it is red.”
Mr. Todhunter tired of the comparison and stumped indoors to fetch his cheque-book.
“Can’t we muck his house up, just a bit?” said Micky wistfully.
“Yes, I don’t see why not, just a bit.”
“Mister,” said Doris, near tears. “Kiss me once before you go.”
“No. Mr. Todhunter wouldn’t like it. He’s terribly jealous.”
“Is he?” she said lightening. “I love jealous men.”
When Basil left her, her fervent, volatile affections were already plainly engaged with her new host. Marlene remained passive throughout the interview; she had few gifts, poor child, and those she was allowed to employ only on rare occasions. “Mayn’t I be sick here, Doris? Just once?”
“Not here, ducky. Wait till the gentleman billets you.”
“Will that be long?”
“No,” said Mr. Todhunter decisively, “not long.”
So the scourge of the Malfrey area moved south into the apple-growing country and the market gardens; and all over the park at Malfrey, dispersed irregularly under the great elms, tents sprang up; and the yeomanry officers set up their mess in the Grinling Gibbons saloon; and Barbara had Colonel Sproggin and Major Cathcart to live in the house; and Freddy made an agreeable sum of money out of the arrangement; and Bill spent many blissful uxorious hours in the Malt House, Grantley Green (he was quite satisfied with the explanation he was given about the cellar door). And Basil returned to London.
He decided to pay one of his rare, and usually rather brief, visits to his mother. He found her busy and optimistic, serving on half a dozen benevolent committees connected with comforts for the troops, seeing her friends regularly. The defeat of Finland had shocked her, but she found it a compensation that Russia was at last disclosed in the true light. She welcomed Basil to the house, heard his news of Barbara and gave him news of Tony. “I want to have a little talk with you sometime,” she said, after half an hour’s gossip.
Basil, had he not been inured to his mother’s euphemisms, might have supposed that a little talk was precisely what she had just had; but he knew what a little talk meant; it meant a discussion of his “future.”
“Have you arranged anything for tonight?”
“No, Mother, not yet.”
“Then we will dine in. Just the two of us.”
And that night after dinner she said, “Basil, I never thought I should have to say this to you. I’ve been pleased, of course, that you were able to be of help to Barbara with her evacues, but now that you have returned to London, I must tell you that I do not think it is man’s work. At a time like this you ought to be fighting.”
“But Mother, as far as I know, no one’s fighting much at the moment.”
“Don’t quibble, dear, you know what I mean.”
“Well, I went to see that colonel when you asked me to.”
“Yes. Sir Joseph explained that to me. They only want very young officers in the Guards. But he says that there are a number of other excellent regiments that offer a far better career. General Gordon was a Sapper, and I believe quite a number of the generals in this war were originally only Gunners. I don’t want you just lounging about London in uniform like your friend Peter Pastmaster. He seems to spend his whole time with girls. That goose Emma Granchester is seriously thinking of him for Molly. So is Etty Flintshire and so is poor Mrs. Van Atrobus for their daughters. I don’t know what they’re thinking of. I knew his poor father. Margot led him a terrible dance. That was long before she married Metroland of course ? before he was called Metroland, in fact. No,” said Lady Seal, abruptly checking herself in the flow of reminiscence. “I want to see you doing something important. Now Sir Joseph has got me one of the forms you fill in to become an officer. It is called the Supplementary Reserve. Before you go to bed I want you to sign it. Then we’ll see about getting it sent to the proper quarter. I’m sure that everything will be much easier now that that disgraceful Mr. Belisha has been outed.”
“But you know, Mother, I don’t really fancy myself much as a subaltern.”
“No, dear,” said Lady Seal decisively, “and if you had gone into the Army when you left Oxford you would be a major by now. Promotion is very quick in wartime because so many people get killed. I’m sure once you’re in, they’ll find great use for you. But you must begin somewhere. I remember Lord Kitchener told me that even he was once a subaltern.”
Thus it was that Basil found himself again in danger of being started on a career. “Don’t worry,” said Peter. “No
