World War, 1914-1918 -- Gift books; World War, 1914-1918 -- Miscellanea
"What? Do you mean that you have been all the way down to the sea on
this bitterly cold and stormy night with nothing on but dressing-gowns
over your pyjamas and bedroom slippers on your bare feet?"
They laughed, and then I knew that nothing would hold either of them
back from the Front five minutes longer than was absolutely inevitable.
But the next day was a different kind of day for Little Yeogh Wough. For
he spent it in London--that London which he always loved, as I love it,
with a deep and undying devotion; and he found himself in the company of
men whose strength was in their brains, rather than in their bodies.
He began, directly I left him, by mischievously telegraphing to an
eminent novelist, who was fond of him, to meet him at a given spot in
town. It was the eminent novelist's busiest day of the week, on which he
never left home, but he obeyed the summons of the telegram, which bore
the sender's surname only, imagining, perhaps, that something had gone
very wrong. Anyhow, he was irate when he discovered that nothing more
important had required him than Little Yeogh Wough, desirous of showing
off his uniform.
He gave his admiration, none the less. Another and another, whom the boy
of my heart went to see, charmed him by their brilliance in return for
the quicker life which the mere sight and voice of him put into their
veins. He passed the afternoon at the Stores, doing as much in helping
the sale of military outfits for other people as in buying what he
himself needed. And he passed the evening with me at my hotel, with
friends of whom one, Mr. Clement Shorter, had known him by daily sight
and greeting since the bright years of his earliest boyhood.
He sat and drank in the eager talk of books. And at twelve o'clock, when
the never to be forgotten little party had broken up and he was due at
his uncle's flat, he came and planted himself in front of me and said:
"Big Yeogh Wough, when this war is over, I'm not going in for the Indian
Civil Service. I'm not going in for anything that will take me away from
London and you and the life that you live. London and the brain force of
London have got into my blood to-day. When I come back I'm going to stop
here and use here in this city all the powers that I've got. You will
see."
When he was leaving me he turned back and said with sudden wistfulness:
"I've got to go down to-morrow, but you could stop in London till
Friday, couldn't you? You see, Edward's going to bring his sister up to
town on Friday and I should like you to meet her. I dare say I could get
up again for a few hours and we might have a little tea-party
somewhere--perhaps at the Criterion."
He spoke quite lightly, as if my refusal would not matter in the very
least. But I looked at his sad, deep eyes and at the grace of his figure
in its new khaki, and I did not refuse.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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