Charms -- Fiction; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Love stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
And Mrs. Cartwright glancing at him over that rumpled head buried on her
shoulder, beheld a Captain Ross quite new to her; not merely the finest
judge of women in Europe, but the fine comrade of men. It was with an
admirable mixture of gentleness and matter-of-factness that he spoke,
moving as he did so quietly and quickly about the room; closing the
shutters, to banish the ghastly radiance of the moon; turning up the
yellow, mercifully ordinary lights; finding flask, a tobacco, pipe, and
matches; handier and swifter with his one arm than many a man with two.
"Put a pipe on, man. Here. No? All right; presently. Rotten luck; I
thought we were clear of these attacks. It's this darned moon.... He was
shot down in the moonlight, I heard.... We used to get 'em every week
one time, Mrs. Cartwright; the whole ward pulled up standing, and the
girls on night duty thinking it was blue murder, I guess, the first
time. I knew when I heard him; we were in hospital together."
"He thought he was still in hospital when he saw me," put in Mrs.
Cartwright softly.
"Is that so? You only reached him first by seconds, I guess; I was up
before he'd finished hollering," said Captain Ross, with a glance at the
spent boy who was leaning up against the woman, his face still hidden,
his breath coming in gasps. "It was a baddish go, this trip. A drink,
man?"
Young Awdas shook his head without raising it. "I'm ... all right.
Dashed sorry ... all right in a second...."
"Give it him presently," murmured Captain Ross; then glancing at the
woman beside the bed, "There won't be much sleeping for him or me; but
it's no reason why you should lose your night's rest, Mrs. Cartwright.
I'm staying. No need for you to wait up any longer."
But at this, those clutching hands of the boy gripped her tight again,
closing upon the silken folds above her breast. She answered the quick
involuntary appeal, feeling herself caught back to the times when little
Keith, waking in fright, had clutched her, and cried: "_Don't go Mums! I
want you to stay with me!_"
"I'm not going," she said, just as she had said then. She let herself
slip down in a sitting posture to the edge of the bed.
Captain Ross paused, with another swift glance at the group.
"You'll stay with him?"
"Of course."
"I guess he's better in your hands; I'll leave him there," said Captain
Ross with a nod. He glanced about, picked up the thick dressing-gown
that lay over the bed-rail, and tucked it like a railway rug about her.
Then he turned to the door. "I'm just across the corridor. If you want
anything, just call, ever so softly. I shall hear."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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