CHAPTER IX. The Slacker--in Uniform

THE SLACKER--IN UNIFORM

Mrs. P.A. Brunton was convinced that she was an exceptional woman in every way. She would tell you this in the first fifteen minutes of conversation that you had with her, for many of her sentences began, "Now, I know, of course, that I am peculiar in many ways"; or, "I am afraid you will not understand me when I say this"; or, "I am afraid I am hopelessly old-fashioned in this." She would explain with painstaking elaboration that she did not know why she was so peculiar, but her manner indicated that she was quite content to be so; indeed, it can only be described as one of boastful resignation. She seemed to glory in her infirmity.

Mrs. Brunton was quite opposed to women voting, and often spoke with sorrow of the movement, which to her meant the breaking-up of the home and all its sacred traditions. She did not specify how this would be done, but her attitude toward all new movements was one of keen distrust. She often said that of course she would be able to vote intelligently, for she had had many advantages and had listened to discussions of public matters all her life, having been brought up in an atmosphere of advanced thinking; but she realized that her case was an exceptional one. It was not the good fortune of every woman to have had a college course as she had, and she really could not see what good could come from a movement which aimed at making all women equal! Why, if women ever got the vote, an ignorant washwoman's vote might kill hers! It was so much better to let women go on as they were going, exerting their indirect influence; and then it was the woman of wealth and social prestige who was able to exert this influence, just as it should be! She certainly did not crave a vote, and would do all she could to prevent other women from getting it.

Mrs. Brunton had come from the East, and although she had lived many years in the West, she could never forget what a sacrifice she had made by coming to a new country. Being a college graduate, too, seemed to be something she could not outgrow!

When her only boy was old enough to go to school, she became the teacher's bad dream, for she wrote many notes and paid many calls to explain that Garth was not at all like other children and must not be subjected to the same discipline as they, for he had a proud and haughty spirit that would not submit to discipline unless it were tactfully disguised. Garth was a quiet, mild little lad who would have been much like other boys if left alone.

Garth was twenty years old when the war began, and he was then attending the university. He first spoke of enlisting when the war had gone on a year.

"Enlist!" his mother cried, when he mentioned it to her, "I should say not--you are my only child, and I certainly did not raise you to be a soldier. There are plenty of common people to do the fighting; there are men who really like it; but I have other ambitions for you--you are to be a university man."

When the Third University Company went, he spoke of it again, but his mother held firm.

"Do you think I am going to have you sleeping in those awful trenches, with every Tom, Dick, and Harry? I tell you soldiering is a rough business, and I cannot let a boy of mine go--a boy who has had your advantages must not think of it."

"But, mother, there are lots of boys going who have had just as good advantages as I have."

Just then came in Emily Miller, the little girl from next door whose brother was going away the next day. Emily was an outspoken young lady of fourteen.

"When are you going, Garth?" she asked pointedly.

"He is not going," said his mother firmly. "His duty is at home finishing his education, and I am simply amazed at your mother for letting Robert go. Does she not believe in education? Of course I know there are not many who lay the stress on it that I do, but with me it is education first--always."

"But the war won't wait," said Emily; "my mother would be very glad to have Bob finish his education, but she's afraid it will be over then."

"War or no war, I say let the boys get their education--what is life without it?"

Emily surveyed her calmly, and then said, "What would happen to us if every mother held her boy back--what if every mother took your attitude, Mrs. Brunton?"

"You need not speculate on that, child, for they won't. Most mothers run with the popular fancy--they go with the crowd--never thinking, but I have always been peculiar, I know."

"Oh, mother, cut out that 'peculiar' business--it makes me tired!" said Garth undutifully.

When Robert Miller came in to say good-bye, he said: "You'll be lonesome, Garth, when we all go and you are left with the women and the old men--but perhaps you will enjoy being the only young man at the party."

"Garth may go later," said his mother,--"at least if the war lasts long enough,--but not as a private. I will not object to his taking the officers' classes at the university."

"See, Bob," crowed Garth, "I'll have you and Jim Spaulding for my two batmen over there. But never mind, I'll be good to you and will see that you get your ha'pennyworth of 'baccy and mug of beer regular."

Mrs. Brunton laughed delightedly. "Garth always sees the funny side," she cooed.

"That certainly is a funny side all right," said Robert, "but he'll never see it! These pasteboard officers never last after they get over--they can only carry it off here. Over there, promotions are on merit, not on political pull."

The third, fourth, and fifth contingents went from the university, and still Garth pursued the quest of learning. His mother openly rebuked the mothers of the boys who had gone. "Let the man on the street go! Look at the unemployed men on our streets!" she said; "why aren't they made to go--and leave our university boys at home?"

"Every man owes a duty to his country," one of the mothers said. "If one man neglects or refuses to pay, that is no reason for others to do the same. This is a holy war--holier than any of the crusades--for the crusader went out to restore the tomb of our Lord, and that is only a material thing; but our boys are going out to give back to the world our Lord's ideals, and I know they are more precious to Him than any tomb could be!"

"My dear Mrs. Mason," said Garth's mother, "you are simply war-mad like so many women--it is impossible to reason with you."

A year went by, and many of the university boys were wounded and some were killed. To the mothers of these went Mrs. Brunton with words of sympathy, but came away wondering. Some way they did not seem to receive her warmly.

"Where is Garth now?" asked one of these women.

"He's thinking of taking the officers' training," answered Mrs. Brunton, "as soon as the college term closes. A boy meets the very nicest people there, and I do think that is so important, to meet nice people."

"And no Germans!" said the other woman tartly.

* * * * *

Mrs. Brunton gave a very select and intellectual farewell party for Garth when he went to another city to take the officers' training, and she referred to him as "my brave soldier laddie," much to the amusement of some of the party.

In two weeks he came home on leave of absence, very elegant in his new uniform. He also brought cabinet-sized photographs which cost eighteen dollars a dozen. Another party was held--the newspaper said he was the "raison d'etre for many pleasant social gatherings."

At the end of two weeks he went out again to take more classes. He was very popular with the girls, and the mother of one of them came to visit Mrs. Brunton. They agreed on the subject of military training and education, and exceptional women, and all was gay and happy.

At the end of three months Garth again came home. No hero from the scenes of battle was ever more royally received, and an afternoon reception was held, when patriotic songs were sung and an uncle of the young man made a speech.

Soon after that Garth went to Toronto and took another course, because his mother thought it was only right for him to see his own country first, before going abroad; and, besides, no commission had yet been offered him. The short-sightedness of those in authority was a subject which Mrs. Brunton often dwelt on, but she said she could not help being glad.

Meanwhile the war went wearily on; battalion after battalion went out and scattering remnants came home. Empty sleeves, rolled trousers legs, eyes that stared, and heads that rolled pitifully appeared on the streets. On the sunshiny afternoons many of these broken men sat on the verandas of the Convalescent Home and admired the smart young lieutenant who went whistling by--and wondered what force he was with.

The war went on to the completion of its third year. Garth had attended classes in three cities, and had traveled Canada from end to end. There had been four farewell parties and three receptions in his honor. He came home again for what his mother termed "a well-earned rest."

He sat on the veranda one day luxuriously ensconced in a wicker chair, smoking a cigarette whose blue wreaths of smoke he blew gayly from him. He was waiting for the postman--one of Mae's letters had evidently gone astray, and the postman, who seemed to be a stupid fellow, had probably given it to some one else. He had made several mistakes lately, and Garth determined that it was time he was reprimanded--the young officer would attend to that.

"Posty" came at last, a few minutes late again, and Garth rapped imperiously with his cane, as "Posty," peering at the addresses of the letters, came up the steps.

"See here," cried Garth, "let me see what you have!"

"Posty" started nervously and the letters dropped from his hands. While he gathered them up, Garth in his most military manner delivered himself of a caustic rebuke:--

"You have left letters here which belong elsewhere, and I have lost letters through your carelessness. What is the matter with you anyway--can't you read?" he snapped.

"Yes, sir," stammered "Posty," flushing as red as the band on his hat.

"Well, then," went on the young officer, "why don't you use your eyes--where do you keep them anyway?"

"Posty" stood at attention as he answered with measured deliberation:--

"I have one of them here ... but I left the other one at Saint-Eloi. Were you thinking of hunting it up for me, sir,--when--you--go--over?"

* * * * *

That was six weeks ago. Still the war goes on. Returned men walk our streets, new pale faces lie on hospital pillows, telegraph boys on wheels carry dread messages to the soldiers' homes.

Garth has gone back to an Eastern city for another course (this time in signaling). He gave a whole set of buttons off his uniform to Mae before he went--and he had his photograph taken again!

Even if he does not get over in time to do much in this war, it is worth something to have such a perfectly trained young officer ready for the next war!