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Updated: June 18, 2025
Now he resented them. "Who goes there?" "Rounds." And the officer, recognized, flashing an electric torch, passed on. The diminuendo of his footsteps was agreeable to Doggie's ear. The rain dripped monotonously off his helmet on to his sodden shoulders, but Doggie did not mind. Now and then he strained an eye upwards to that part of the living-house that was above the gateway.
So sorrowfully he sent back most of his purchases to London. Then the Imp of Mischance brought as a visitor to the mess, a subaltern from another regiment who belonged to Doggie's part of the country. "Why I'm blowed if it isn't Doggie Trevor!" he exclaimed carelessly. "How d'ye do, Doggie?" So thenceforward he was known in the regiment by the hated name.
The amount of warlike equipment with which Doggie, with the aid of his Aunt Sophia and Peggy, encumbered the narrow little passages of Sturrocks's Hotel, must have weighed about a ton. At last Doggie's uniforms several suits came home. He had devoted enormous care to their fit. Attired in one he looked beautiful. Peggy decreed a dinner at the Carlton. She and Doggie alone.
"He is then, rich Doggie?" "He has a fine house of his own in the country, with many servants and automobiles, and wait" he made a swift arithmetical calculation "and an income of eighty thousand francs a year." "Comment?" cried Jeanne sharply, with a little frown. Phineas McPhail was enjoying himself, basking in the sunshine of Doggie's wealth.
The doggie's i' the lodge wi' the caretaker, wha's fair ill, an' he canna be seen the day. But gang aroond the kirk an' ye can see Auld Jock's grave that he's aye guarded. There's nae stave to it, but it's neist to the fa'en table-tomb o' Mistress Jean Grant. A gude day to ye. Hae ye got a' that, man? Weel, cheer up.
But it's not a question of what I was born to be but what I was trained to be. I wasn't trained to be a soldier. But I do my best." She looked at him waveringly. "Forgive me, mademoiselle." "But you flash out on the point of honour." Doggie laughed. "Which shows that I have the essential of the soldier." Doggie's manner was not without charm. She relented.
"Dam hard lines especially just now." "Yes, isn't it?" Doggie would answer. And once he found himself adding, "I'm fed up with doing nothing." Here can be noted a distinct stage in Doggie's development. He realized the brutality of fact. When great German guns were yawning open-mouthed at you, it was no use saying, "Take the nasty, horrid things away, I don't like them."
And there were his friends: the humorous, genial, deboshed, yet ever-kindly Phineas; dear old Mo Shendish, whose material feet were hankering after the vulgar pavement of Mare Street, Hackney, but whose spiritual tread rang on golden floors dimly imagined by the Seer of Patmos; Barrett, the D. C. M., the miniature Hercules, who, according to legend, though, modestly, he would never own to it, seized two Boches by the neck and knocked their heads together till they died, and who, musically inclined, would sit at his, Doggie's, feet while he played on his penny whistle all the sentimental tunes he had ever heard of; Sergeant Ballinghall, a tower of a man, a champion amateur heavy-weight boxer, with a voice compared with which a megaphone sounded like a maiden's prayer, and a Bardolphian nose and an eagle eye and the heart of a broody hen, who had not only given him boxing lessons, but had pulled him through difficult places innumerable ... and scores of others.
But I'm wrong. You haven't changed a bit." A few minutes later they reached Woburn Place. Doggie showed him into the sitting-room on the drawing-room floor. A fire was burning in the grate, for though it was only early autumn, the evening was cold. The table was set for Doggie's dinner. Phineas looked round him in surprise. He scratched his head, covered with a thick brown thatch.
The French mind cannot conceive the idea of this beautiful brotherhood; but, on the contrary, rejects it as something loathsome, something bordering on spiritual defilement.... No; Jeanne could not accept the theory that we were waging war for the ultimate chastening and beatification of Germany. She preferred Doggie's reason for fighting. For his soul. There was something which she could grip.
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