“You know,” said the Colonel, poking back a log with his foot, “I’m very glad that Nina has married you, my boy. I’ve liked you from the moment I saw you. She’s a headstrong girl—always was—but I knew that she’d make a sensible choice in the end. I foresee a very agreeable life ahead of you two young people.”
“I hope so, sir.”
“I’m sure of it, my boy. She’s very nearly made several mistakes. There was an ass of a fellow here the other day wanting to marry her. A journalist. Awful silly fellow. He told me my old friend Canon Chatterbox was working on his paper. Well, I didn’t like to contradict him—he ought to have known, after all—but I thought it was funny at the time, and then, d’you know, after he’d gone I was going through some old papers upstairs and I came on a cutting from the Worcester Herald describing his funeral. He died in 1912. Well, he must have been a muddleheaded sort of fellow to make a mistake like that, mustn’t he? … Have some port?”
“Thank you.”
“Then there was another chap. Came here selling vacuum cleaners, if you please, and asked me to give him a thousand pounds! Impudent young cub. I soon sent him about his business. … But you’re different, Littlejohn. Just the sort of son-in-law I’d have chosen for myself. Your marriage has been a great happiness to me, my boy.”
At this moment Nina came in to say that there were carol singers outside the drawing-room window.
“Bring ’em in,” said the Colonel. “Bring ’em in. They come every year. And tell Florin to bring up the punch.”
Florin brought up the punch in a huge silver punch bowl and Nina brought in the waits. They stood against the sideboard, caps in hand, blinking in the gaslight, and very red about the nose and cheeks with the sudden warmth.
“
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,” they sang, “comfort and joy,
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.”
They sang “Good King Wenceslas,” and “The First Noel,” and “Adeste Fideles,” and “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.” Then Florin ladled out the punch, seeing that the younger ones did not get the glasses intended for their elders, but that each, according to his capacity, got a little more, but not much more, than was good for him.
The Colonel tasted the punch and pronounced it excellent. He then asked the carol singers their names and where they came from, and finally gave their leader five shillings and sent them off into the snow.
“It’s been just like this every year, as long as I can remember,” said the Colonel. “We always had a party at Christmas when we were boys … acted some very amusing charades too … always a glass of sherry after luncheon in the servants’ hall and carol singers in the evening. … Tell me,” he said, suddenly changing the subject, “did you really like what you saw of the film yesterday?”
“It was the most divine film I ever saw, Papa.”
“I enjoyed it enormously, sir, really I did.”
“Did you? Did you? Well, I’m glad to hear that. I don’t believe the Rector did—not properly. Of course, you only saw a bit of it, most disappointing. I didn’t like to say so at the time, but I thought it most negligent of him to have his electric light in that sort of condition so that it wouldn’t last out for one evening. Most inconsiderate to anyone who wants to show a film. But it’s a glorious film, isn’t it? You did think so?”
“I never enjoyed a film so much, honestly.”
“It makes a stepping stone in the development of the British film industry,” said the Colonel dreamily. “It is the most important all-talkie super-religious film to be produced solely in this country by British artists and management and by British capital. It has been directed throughout regardless of difficulty and expense, and supervised by a staff of expert historians and theologians. Nothing has been omitted that would contribute to the meticulous accuracy of every detail. The life of that great social and religious reformer John Wesley is for the first time portrayed to a British public in all its humanity and tragedy. … I’m glad you realized all that, my boy, because as a matter of fact, I had a proposal to make to you about it. I’m getting an old man and can’t do everything, and I feel my services should be better spent in future as actor and producer, rather than on the commercial side. One needs someone young to manage that. Now what I thought was, that perhaps you would care to come in with me as business partner. I bought the whole thing from Isaacs and, as you’re one of the family, I shouldn’t mind selling you a half-share for, say, two thousand pounds. I know that that isn’t much to you, and you’d be humanly certain to double your money in a few months. What do you say to it?”
“Well …” said Adam.
But he was never called upon to answer, for just at that moment the door of the dining-room opened and the Rector came in.
“Hullo, Rector, come in. This is very neighbourly of you to come and call at this time of night. A happy Christmas to you.”
“Colonel Blount, I’ve got very terrible news. I had to come over and tell you …”
“I say, I am sorry. Nothing wrong at the Rectory, I hope?”
“Worse, far worse. My wife and I were sitting over the fire after dinner, and as we couldn’t read—not having any light—we put on the wireless. They were having a very pretty carol service. Suddenly they stopped in the middle and a special news bulletin was read. … Colonel, the most terrible and unexpected thing—War has been declared.”
Happy Ending
On a splintered tree stump in the biggest battlefield in the history of the world, Adam sat down and read a letter from Nina. It had arrived early the
