QUAND MEME

Sun (Christchurch), Volume IV, Issue 1164, 3 November 1917, Page 5 (Supplement)

QUAND MEME

()\V. hoys." said M. Rimvß[{ij» master, "let us not be /pßvyjSjPi) so slow. Corne, translate. Whose is ze turn? Yours, Green. Take zis leelle piece of unseen. It ees not hard; oh, no. Begin—' Quand meme'" Green was not a genius. The sun was shining, and he, with the rest of the class, was yearning for the cricket-nets. He looked doubtfully and unlovingly at the page. "Altogether," he began. "No, no." cried the master impatiently. "Next boy." Watts was diffident, but suggested "Whenever." Folgate was confident, and rapped out "Wherefore," as if there could be no possible doubt. M. Rimbout's face darkened. He suspected a conspiracy of feigne<l ignorance. " I shall ask every boy," he said, "and eef I do not have ze right answer, ze class will stay here till tea.". This was serious. It meant losing a cricket practice, and on such a heavenlv afternoon! As anxiety deepened the guesses grew wilder, When only Squab remained the class settled down to sullen despair. Squab was one of the school butts —a forlorn looking little shaver, with a bad limp, a stutter, and no physique; slow in his work, and given to mooning about in odd corners with a book or a paper in his hand. From him no help was to be looked for. Yet, strange to say, it was forthcoming. "You, Browne," said M. Rimbout, taking out his watch and laying it on the table, a clear indication that he too thought the issue was decided. " Sp-sp-spite of everything," answered Squab with quite unusual signs of interest. M. Rimbout lifted his watch, and his face relaxed into a smile. "Zat ees one of eets meanings," he said. "Where did you meet wiz eet?" "I read in" the p-p-p-paper, sir, that some great Frenchwoman had taken it as her motto. She m-m----meant to succeed in sp-sp-spite of evervthing." "Well, Browne," said the master, "vour place in ze class ees not a ver' deeslinguished one, but you have on zis occasion, quand meme, saved ze class." From that time "Squab" fell into disuse. For a week Browne was everywhere hailed as "Quand Meme." At the end of that time a process of attrition had reduced the name to more manageable proportions. For the rest of his school life he was known as Conk.

The interest excited by the unexpected rescue of the French class soon flickered out, and Conk dropped back into his old position—half butt, half puzzle; "an awful ass," qualified by the addition, "but a rum fellow." On the boy himself, however, the experience left a permanent nrtirk. He had already become so accustomed to thinking himself a hopeless dunce that now it seemed to him as if a revolution had suddenly broken out in his humdrum life. The gleam of success, so insignificant in the eyes of his schoolfellows, was to him something wonderful and entrancing. The success coming, as it had done, in connection with that chance phrase, "quand meme" held for him thenceforth a kind of mystical import. It was a secret password that made him free of a host of new ambitions, an open sesame before which all kinds of impossible doors might, he felt, fly open. His first efforts were not crowned with any great success. He showed his gratitude to the French language by taking extra pains over M. Rimbout's lessons, but his wretched stutter spoilt his chances. Even apart from this, he was not quick and alert enough to shine in question and answer, and in the examinations his new ambitions were responsible for a bad attack of narves. In spite of this handicap, however, he rose from the bottom of the list to near the middle, and was greeted in his dormitory with a spirited rendering of "See the Conquering Hero Comes." The same night he wrote home asking them to send him regularly a French newspaper and a French magazine. He had three years more at school; but, though he tried hard all the time, and improved his position immensely, he never succeeded in winning a class prize. But for the Shakespeare prize he was proxime to Eves, the school captain, who had won a Balliol scholarship. "You only won the prize by the skin of your teeth," the Head told this gorgeous youth. "The examiner said he had never met with a boy so soaked in Shakespeare (the expression was his) as Browne, but he made the old mistake and left himself no time to touch the last two questions." "It's funny," said Conk slowly when the Head congratulated him on his proxime. "I've always been m-m-mooning about over Shakespeare, and Lamb's Sp-Sp-Speci-mens, and that sort of st-st-st-stuff, I n-ever thought it would c-c-come in for an exam. The questions might have been m-m-made for me. I c-could have gone on for hours." One prize, however, he did win, and, curiously enough, it was on the athletic side, just where his chances seemed most hopeless. With quand meme always singing in his cars, he had looked round carefully for some opportunity of earning distinction in the field most attractive to the other boys. From football, cricket, and rackets he was barred by his miserable limp. There was just one possibility, and he snatched at it. The sergeant smiled when he presented himself at the shooting range; but half-an-hour later the smile had changed from amusement to encouragement. "You've got a rare good eye," he said to the novice. "If you stick to it, you'll be in the team one day." Six months later he was almost reverential. "The best shot we've ever had in the school, bar none," he said when Conk showed him the silver cup which was the shooting prize. "You'll be shooting in the King's one day; you mark my words." "Oh no, I sha'n't," answered the boy: "b-b-but I'm glad I p-p-pulled It off this t-t-t-time."

BY B. PAUL NEUMAN.

111. When Will—to give him his proper name, which he thenceforth resumed —left school, it was to go into his father's business. Mr Browne carried on a big export trade with Australia, chiefly in hardware. The eldest son was in Melbourne, another was manager of one of the London departments, and Will, who was the youngest bov, had to begin at the bottom of the ladder. He had secretly hoped for a university career, but he recognised the fact that his school record had not been brilliant, and he accepted the parental decision with a very good grace. Not that business attracted him, or even the prospect of making a big income. But he must do something, and he felt no impulse towards any other calling. Moreover, business would leave him free to try to realise the one strong ambition that he had brought with him from school. His poor physique, his limp, his stutter, his shy reserve—these things were the handicaps that had burdened him from the start, and threatened to hinder and mar his full development. That should not be, if he could by any means prevent it. How he would use his manhood freed from the handicaps did not trouble , him. The great thing was to set it free. The limp seemed hopeless, but the stutter he determined to tackle at once. His salary was not large at first, but it was supplemented by a very liberal supply of pocket-money, so that there was no pecuniary difficulty. He consulted a physician—not the family doctor, for he had made up his mind to fight his campaign in secrecy. From him he obtained the address of a specialist, whose exercises and instructions were irksome enough to raise a strong presumption of their efficacy. On these the boy set to work with a quiet, dogged resolution that, after a "while, met with its due reward. Gradually it began to dawn on the family, first, that Will's stammer was nothing like so assertive as of old, and next—after an interval—that it had practically gone. "There!" exclaimed Mr Browne triumphantly. "What did I tell you? It was only a matter of nerves, and business life is the finest tonic in the world." Greatly encouraged by this notable success, Will next took in hand his general physique. From a child he had heard himself spoken of as "very delicate." At school his limp had kept him out of all the robuster forms of exercise, and had excused his habit of mooning about. His chest was narrow, and his muscles — or, rather, lack of them —one of the dormitory jokes. Now he consulted his doctor again, and, still without a word at home, spent dreary months over breathing practice, and then heaped Ossa upon Pelion— Muller upon Sandow. Perhaps the ardouV and perseverance with which he pursued his self-ap-pointed tasks reacted on his business work, for his father, who was chary of praise, spared some for his latest recruit.

"He won't set the Thames on fire," he remarked to his wife, "but he's buckled to his job a lot better than I expected. You'll see, my dear, we'll make a good business man of him before we've done."

"I hope he'll be able to stand the life," she answered a little anxiously. "You know, he's always been so delicate." "I believe we made a lot too much of his delicacy," said her husband. "He looks strong enough to me, except for his poor leg. Anyway, he shall have a real good holiday, though he never seems to care much for the sea. I'll have a talk to him about it. He generally has ideas of his own." This view Will justified when his father spoke to him. Three or four of his old school friends were going to Heidelberg as a reading party, and he would like to go with them.

"Capital!" said Mr Browne. "Get up your German. Modern languages are an invaluable asset to a man of business. I ony wish I'd had the chance when I was your age, my bov."

From that time, year after year, Will spent his holidays abroad, generally in France or Germany. On one occasion he accompanied the famdy to Switzerland, and delighted his father by the fluency of his French and German.

"The boy's improved out of all knowledge," he declared enthusiastically. "If he does take his own line, it's a thundering good one. It's a thousand pities about that leg of his. Lucky, though, it doesn't trouble him. You never hear him say a word about it."

"I'm not sure that that's a good sign," said Mis Browne doubtfully.

Mrs Browne's doubt showed her discernment. Will's reticence about his lameness was due not to indifference, but to an intense, an almost I morbid, sensitiveness. In other re- ! spects he was not at all touchy. At ' school the outspoken comments and | jokes over his stammering had rarely | ruffled him, but the least reference to his halting leg stung him to the quick. At home it had long been j understood that in his presence no allusion was to be made to the pain- | ful subject. Even to his doctor j friend he found it difficult to talk of his infirmity. But with his stutter ' overcome, his general physique im- ; proved out of knowledge, and his ' shyness and reserve replaced by the ■ easy manners and self-reliance that travel so often imparts, he felt that I the time had come to deal with the ; last and the most formidale of his disabilities. "Quand meme," he said ; to himself with a little smile, as he ; faced once more the neat brass plate 1 in Wimpole Street. "It's a surgeon's job, of course," I said the physician; "but if it means I an operation, you're as fit to stand (one as any man I know; and I I wouldn't have said that before you ! took yourself in hand." It was a fortnight before Will ; could screw up his courage, but at I last he forced himself into the surI geon's consulting-room. "I won't say for certain," was the j great man's verdict, "but if I were in vour place I'd have a shot at it. You look in good condition, and with plenty of massage, and perhaps a sea-voyage after the operation, I think you'd stand a good chance of being as sound on your legs as any man need be. I can't say It's a cer-

tainty, but there's a real good chance."

So far, so good; but when it came to telling his people at home, he found the task quite beyond him. "I know what it'll be," he said to himself. "The mater'll be halfbeside herself, the governor will be sure that I'm a status lymphaticus case, and the girls will treat me like a pet-lamb. And yet—oh, dash it all! ;here must be a way out." One day, while he was still debating the matter with himself, his father called him into his private room.

"Will," he said, "you've been working very steadily for a long time now. You'll be twenty-one this year, and I'd like you to have an extra-good holiday. What do you say to America and the West Indies?"

Will's face lit up with pleasure It would be splendid," he answered

"Thanks, awfully. I've always hankered to cross the Atlantic." "Very well. You can take a couple of months from the middle of July, and I'll give you a couple of hundreds to pay the bills." V. "It's a queer thing that Will hasn't had a look at the West Indies. He used to rave about them, and now it seems as i,f he couldn't get away from Toronto, of all places. I don't believe he's even been to California. I can't make it out at all." This was Mr Browne's comment on a letter from Will, written apparently in excellent spirits, but containing ' curiously little information about his movements, and fdled with observations on Canadian trade and general characteristics that might almost have come out of a consular report. "I don't think it's the right time of year for the West Indies," said Mrs Browne placidly. "No, that's true; but I should have thought he'd have been all over the States, at any rate, by this time. He's very careless too, and that's not like him. He doesn't give any address except just 'Toronto.' What's the good of that?" "The last time he wrote was from some hotel—l've got the letter upstairs. I suppose he's slill there." "Hullo!" exclaimed Mr Browne. "Here's another scrap in the envelope. That's careless again. They should have been fastened together." "Does it say anything about his movements'?" "asked his wife when he laid down the offending scrap of paper. "No. It's all about the war; the news has just got out there, and lie's full of it." "Ah, poor boy! Ht'll feel his lameness more than ever now, especially when he hears that Edgar and Henry are both joining up. It is hard on him." "Yes, it is," said Mr Browne feelingly. "I believe he'd have made a fine'officer. I'm sure his heart's in tke right place."

The great catastrophe, so long foreseen and dreaded, had come at last, and, at the last, suddenly, as a thief in the night. Britain, recovering from the first shock, was already springing to arms. The call for volunteers had begun to sound, and everywhere young, eager hearts were taking counsel with themselves. Three weeks before the breaking of the storm Will had gone for his American holiday, and in another fortnight or so he was due to return. Both Edgar and Henry held commissions in the Territorials. Edgar had cabled from Australia that he was coming back by the first liner he could catch, and Henry had already joined up. Mi - Browne, proud of his soldier son, but already racked with anxiety, relieved his feelings in true English fashion by grumbling.

"Doesn't Harry look fine?" asked

I his mother proudly, hiding her secret fears more successfully than her husband. "Don't make me blush, mater," pleaded Harry, who was back on his first leave. "It's all very well for the young I blood," said his father. "I should have been agog to be off when I was j his age, I know; but what's to become of the business? Rickman told me to-day that he's joining up next week, and Barton's got the look in his eyes too. I've got Harry's work now to do as well as my own." "You'll have Will back in no time," I said Harry. "He'll till my place all i right as soon as he's got his-bear- | ings. He's got a head on his j shoulders, has Will." ! "I rather wonder he hasn't turned |up before," said Mr Browne. "I I cabled to him to come back as soon 'as he could. I suppose it must have j missed him. He's so confoundedly j careless about his addresses." "I shouldn't have thought" i Harry had begun. Then he suddenly ! broke off, looked up sharply, and exi claimed in a staccato aside, "Hullo! I Who the dickens is this?" I Through the open French windows j of the drawing-room, and over the 'grass, came a gallant young figure in | khaki and a cadet's cap. Ethel, the tomboy, sprang to her l feet. "It's Will!" she cried. Then in I a moment, "Oh no, of course not." i Bui she still stood there smiling, ! frowning, puzzled, hesitant. For there was no sign of a limp. IHe carried himself as jauntily as ! Harry himself, this young khaki sprig. His face was browned, as if sun and wind had been at work upon it, but, for all that, it was just a little too line-drawn. A year later in the war you would have guessed him I wounded, but ready to go back. As he came nearer he smiled. Every one jumped up. "But it is!" gasped Mrs Browne. "Good Lord! I don't understand," blustered Mr Browne.

"I knew it was, but" cried Ethel. The visitor drew himself up, and saluted smartly. "I see the elder brother," he said, looking at Harry, "but Where's the fatted c-calf?"

It was onlv the faintest ghost of a stutter, but it settled the matter. Ethel rushed forward and threw her arms round his neck.

"That's all right, you old dear!" she cried. "We had veal cutlets for dinner."

Mrs Browne inconsequently began to weep.

| "Good heavens! Sit down, and tell I us all about it," shouted Mr Browne. | "There isn't much to tell," answered Will, as he lay down on the grass. "A chap in Ha'rley Street told me that they could carve my leg into the right shape, but I hated talking about, it—you know what a fool I am—r.iid

I dreaded all the fuss. So, when you"—he looked at his father—"offered me a long holiday in America, I made up my mind that if they said (he same out there, I'd have it done, and give you a little surprise. They did say the same, I went into hospital, and you see the result." "And what on earth made you join up before you were half-fit?'" demanded his father, trying hard to keep the pride out of his voice. "I suppose I was so bucked at being able to hop about, and I wanted so badly to see whether they'd take me." "They'd no business to do it when you were only just out of the hospital. Of course, you didn't tell them." "Yes I did. I knew they'd find out, anyway. There are a few little souvenirs still in evidence on the goodly limb, but they said it'd hold me up quite long enough to stop a bullet." "Oh, don't, Will!" And Mrs Browne's tears flowed faster. "Sorry, mater. It was only a joke. I believe il was my French and German that were the attractions. And when they found thai I'd shot at Bisley, that sellled the matter." "What's going to happen to the business I don't know," declared Mr Browne, indulging in a final grumble. "Yes, father," said Will with sudden seriousness, and a note of tenderness in his voice that was altogether too much for the grumbler, "it is hard on you; but I knew what you'd have done in my place, and I couldn't do any less." "God bless you, my boy!" exclaimed Mr Browne, getting up hastily and walking into the house. "Quand memo—quand meme," repeated Will softly to himself just before he turned in that night. "Stutter, limp, rotten chest, no muscle, school dunce; not a very hopeful outfit, but quand meme " And he patted the sleeve of his , khaki jacket.