Short Story

Lake County Press, Issue 2796, 31 July 1919, Page 7

Short Story

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.' THE BOSS. By C. MALCOLM HINCKS. MIL SAMUEL PAWLINSON thought liis wife and daughter ought to have wept. He felt it Mas a solemn occasion, only spoilt hy the fact that he wore his oldest suit of clothes and a hat lie had kept for gardening. “I’ll write to-night, and let you know where I am,” he said for the sixth time as lie picked up his hag and kissed the pretty girl in the white dress who had opened the front door for him. “t s hall he dying to know what they’ve put you in,” said Mabel Pawlinson, eagerly, ‘‘and I hope' you strike a cushy job!” • Mr. Pawlinson was forty-eight, j portly, and with the dignity of a man who was head of a City busi- . ness and possessed a private in-' ■ come that made him almost hide- , pendent of it. A medical board had passed him as fit for home service, and despite his strong feelings upon; . tlie subject he was “deemed to i J have enlisted.” He was now on his way to the j local town hall to report for service. , He was not exactly enthusiastic j about it as he walked along. But T he had refused the advice of friends ■ —disdained to use influence or appear before a tribunal, and thus it j" came about that he entered the) town hall at a quarter past eight, 1 and joined the little group of men j ol all sorts and conditions who were gathered together in a long, draughty corridor in the basement, 'j Eor the first twenty-five minutes ' or so Mr. Pawlinson did not great- v ly mind waiting, for he was inter- 1 ested in studying his • fellow-re-cruits. But when half an hour had elapsed and the crowd outside the 5 , office seemed scarcely to have di- j minished at all, he grew impatient, j ~ “It is very bad management to * keep one hanging about like this,”.® he said, testly, to his nearest com- 1 panion. j s ' The man grinned. “You go an’j. toll the sergeant so, guv’nor,” hje 1 1 said, “’E ain’t ’alf a nib, that sergeant! I ’card Tm tellin’ a n . bloke off when f got ’ere an’ ” . “Pawlinson!” called a loud voice 111 and Mr. Pawlinson entered the, small office where a big, red-faced sergeant and another man sat at a 1 )( desk with official-looking papers. Mr, Pawlinson had tr answer <!i many questions and sign some papers, and then the sergeant jerked J ll his thumb in the direction of an- sc other room. v< “Step in there, my lad,” he a 1 said, cheerfully, “You an’ me’s C 1 goin’ for a nice little ’oliday to the seaside presently. It’s vou for them* K.G-.A.” ' " j h Air. Pawlinson stepped into the ' room as ordered. Presently the man he had spoken to in the corridor T came into the room and sidled up a to him. u “We’re goin’ to Eastowe an’ that c blinkin’ sergeant’s goin’ to take a us,” he said. “I’ll lay we ’ave a e rotten time.” 11 ‘ ‘I fail to see any concrete reason - for your pessimistic outlook,” re- s ph’ed Mr. Pawlinson, with dignity, t The other man blinked at him, I opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Then he moved d across to the others and said something to them. There was a sub- , r dued murmur of laughter, and Mr. R Pawlinson flushed and suddenly felt very, miserable. The entrance of - the sergeant came as a welcome f relief. 1 “Now, then, England’s last hope * fall in two deep an’ look lively } about it,” he commanded. “Now, 1 what’s that ruddy fat boy of ' Peckham doin’ pushin’ in there 9 1 Two deep, I said. Blimel Wot 1 do you think we’re playin’ at-- : musical chairs? ‘ Air. Pawlinson became aware that it was he whom the sergeant 1 was alluding to as the fat boy of ! Peckham. He flushed angrily, and found a place in the rear rank. The sergeant then told them they, 1 were soldiers now, even if they 1 didn’t look like it ! He added that [ they d got to march to the station like soldiers, or they would bitterly regret the fact that they had been born. Mr. Pawlinson was regretting it already. For the life of him be could not deceive which was his left foot and which was his right, smd his lack of decision hrnughAhe sergeant’s wrath upon his head j All his pompous dignity left him; he was a limp wreck as he marched ] towards the railway station, occasionally getting into step with his [ comrades They reached London just after, twelve, and at Liverpool-street had ’ over half an hour to wait for the Eastowe train. Mr. Pawlinson, who had no appetite himself, was deaf to the sergeant’s broad hints with regard to a good feed and a long drink—especially the latter and thereby missed what would probably have been a very good investment To his great relief his enemy did not travel in the same carriage, so Mr. Pawlinson sat hack in a corner of the crowded compartment,

• and told himself bitterly that la was going to have a very wrote hoc time. Ho had ruled in Ids office witl a rod of iron; he had been a stern dignified head of bis household now be was just a mere number a nonentity at the mercy of a bully ing sergeant. Ho smiled grimly as the train •Tished along. At the start of the war he had been a most enthusiastic recruiter. He had urged every fit member of bis staff to join. (They had been easy to replace in those days, and he had not descended to “bribing” them hy paying half salaries or anything of that sort!) He had also spoken at local recruiting meetings. There had been young Archibald Murray, his junior clerk, who had hung hack. Air. Pawlinson had told him, before the whole staff, that he was a disgrace to the office. He remembered how the hoy had flushed and paled, stammering out something about n widowed mother, and had gone straight away and enlisted. Mr. Pawlinson had told the story over and over again with relish. Now he wondered what Murray and the other old members of Lis staff would say if they could see him! The thought depressed him, and it was with a heavy heart that <he alighted at Eastowe Station. The little party of recruits had a two-mile march to a camp near the cliffs. There they were given tea, and later in the evening clothing and equipment were served out to them. Then, having conveyed his belongings to the tent which he was to share with nine other men, Private Pawlinson was given to understand that he was free to go to the canteen or the recreation hut, hut must not leave the camp. Ho asked a man the way to the recreation hut, meaning to write bis promised letter home. “I’m going that way, I’ll show you,” said the man. “One of the last batch, aren’t you? Here, pull vourself up and salute. Watch me if you don’t know how to do it.” He brought his hand up smartly to the salute as an officer wearing the Alons ribbon and that of the,, Military Cross went past them. Private Pawlinson attempted to I iollow his example, hut as the! )fficer passed on, his hand dropped i io his side and his eyes seemed to < itart from his head. | “Who’s that?” he asked, i; loarsely. (i “Lieutenant Afurray, in command of this battery,” replied the ( >ld soldier. “There’s the reeiea- ' ion hut over there.” j ••• K 9 Private Pawlinson had not ex- ■ •ected to have a good night, for i le had never before slept under 1 anvas. As a matter of fact lie i lid not get any sleep at all until i list before a bugle sounded at ome unearthly hour and a loud- < oiced corporal came into the tent ind roused all the sleepy remits. Twisting and turning from side 0 side between his blankets he i md had plenty of time to think j iver the ghastly situation. He, Samuel Pawlinson, of Alarston and Pawlinson, merchants, was now 1 private in the battery comnanded by his one-time junior jlerk! That in itself would be awkward enough, humiliating ?nough in all conscience, hut what made matters worse was that j Archibald Murray had several old scores to pay off and would certainly take the great opportunity to pay them. He remembered with terrible distinctness some of the names he had called him in that memorable recruiting speech before the whole staff. Then, too, before the war, Murray had once brought some papers from the office to Mr. I Pawlinson’s house and had played tennis with his daughter. That had annoyed Air. Pawlinson, but it had annoyed him still more ( when a week later lie had 1 them on the river. Then he had put Ids foot down firmly. Now.? as lie fell in with the awkward j scpiad he remembered that; “jumped-up jackanapes of an office * bov” was one of the terms he had applied to the man who was now j his commanding officer. ] Little beads of perspiration stood j out on his brow and he licked Ins j drv lips. Sooner or later he would I have to meet Murray, and then, 1 in Army phraseology, be “would be in for it!” Immediately after breakfast be felt that his doom was sealed, for the recruits were ordered to fall in and parade before the officer commanding the battery. Private Pawlinson marched to the orderly , tent about as cheerfully as a condemned man walks to the gallows. 1 The young officer was seated at a table littered with papers; ho ' looked bronzed, and glanced I sharply at each of the recruits as j he questioned them and filled up 1 forms. To Private Pawlinson’s surprise he gave no sign of recognition. and questioned him in the same official, detached voice as he had the others. “Oh. sergeant,” he said, as he filled in the last paper, “I want a new orderly clerk. Let me see, that —er —stout chap, Pawlinson, is used to office routine! T ’ll give him a trial at it. “Plight, sir,” said the sergeant. “Fall out, Private Pawlinson. Remainder, right turn, quick march.

10 And Private Pawlinson was aloi d in the tent with his ex-junior cler and to his amazement the bronze hj young officer was holding out hj i, J hand. L “This is a rum coincidence, Al ’* Pawlinson, ’ he said, quickh Of course, 1 d heard from ym daughter that you were joining u] 11 but I’d no idea you’d be sei 0 ho’*-*- This morning I had a lettc >- from Mabel saying you had joinc y up yesterday.” Private Pawlinson gasped 11 “Vou mean to toll mo that yo are in correspondence with m daughter—sir?” he added a lift! f lamely. t “Mabel and I are great pals, said Lieutenant Afurray, with J slight flush, “and it was not nr |, desire that you should he kept ii * j the dark. 1 say, you know, it’ 1 awfully funny you getting here.” ■ j Mr. Pawlinson glared at him. 0 “Funny I” ho gasped. “I sup ' J pose you see something humorou: ■ in this complete reversal of posi tions. Ido not! No doubt yoi j see a way to pay off old scores and ■" “Nonsense. Air. Pawlinson,’ J broke in the young officer. “Tin position is awkward for both ol us, but I’m most anxious to Lolp you, and I can do a good deal tc make your life here comparatively pleasant. Remember, I owe yon a great debt of gratitude.” The recruit 1 fidgeted uncomfortably. “How?” he asked, in a bewildered voice. “Because it was through you I joined the! Army when I did,” said the lieutenant. “If it had not been for you 1 might have hung back for months, thinking only of my duty to my mother instead of my duty to my country. You opened my eyes—somewhat drastically, eh? —and I’ve never ceased to thank you for ti. I had a rough time, had to take my medicine, but it’s been the making of me Private Pawlinson was still dazed. From outside the tent earn© the strident voice of a drill sergeant. “Aou see, Air. Pawlinson,” went on the officer, hastily', “life in the ranks is a rough old job for a man of your—er—years and position, and that is why I am going to offer you a light job in the orderly tent. Private Pawlinson hesitated for a moment, then drew himself up stiffly to attention. “Thank you, sir,” ho said, quietly, with a dignity' that young Murray thought far greater even than the great dignity that had surrounded him in Ids office years ago. “It’s very good of you to wish to help me, hut I prefer not to accept the post. I’d sooner take my chance in the ranks with the others.” “Great Scot, man, why?” gasped the officer. “I’m going to take my medu cine,” replied Private Pawlinson, with a ghost-of a smile. “I think it may do me good!” A month later Corporal Pawlinson, puffing hard at his pipe, his kit bag over bis sohulder, went swinging down the bill to the station, a smile on Ids cheerful bronzed face. Outside the station a military policeman stopped him and demanded his pass. “There yon are, old son,” said Corporal Pawlinson, cheerfully, as he handed him a slip of paper. The “red cap” examined it carefully. It stated that Corporal Pawlinson had permission to proceed to London for the purpose of attending his daughter’s wedding. It was signed hy the man who was to marry Corporal Pawlinson’s daughter on the following clay. 1