Echoes of the War - The Original Classic Edition. Barrie J

THE HAGGERTY WOMAN, to cover her confusion. 'I don't think.' She feels that even this does not prove her case. 'And I speak

       as one that has War Savings Certificates.'

       3

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'We all have them.'

       The Haggerty Woman whimpers, and the other guests regard her with unfeeling disdain. MRS. DOWEY, to restore cheerfulness, 'Oh, it's a terrible war.'

       ALL, brightening, 'It is. You may say so.'

       MRS. DOWEY, encouraged, 'What I say is, the men is splendid, but I'm none so easy about the staff. That's your weak point, Mrs. Mickleham.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM, on the defence, but determined to reveal nothing that might be of use to the enemy, 'You may take it from

       me, the staff 's all right.'

       MRS. DOWEY. 'And very relieved I am to hear you say it.'

       It is here that the Haggerty Woman has the remaining winkle.

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'You don't understand properly about trench warfare. If I had a map----'

       MRS. DOWEY, wetting her finger to draw lines on the table. 'That's the river Sommy. Now, if we had barrages here----' MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Very soon you would be enfilided. Where's your supports, my lady?' Mrs. Dowey is damped.

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'What none of you grasps is that this is a artillery war----'

       THE HAGGERTY WOMAN, strengthened by the winkle, 'I say that the word is Salonaiky.' The others purse their lips.

       MRS. TWYMLEY, with terrible meaning, 'We'll change the subject. Have you seen this week's Fashion Chat?' She has evidently seen and devoured it herself, and even licked up the crumbs. 'The gabardine with accordion pleats has quite gone out.'

       MRS. DOWEY, her old face sparkling. 'My sakes! You tell me?'

       MRS. TWYMLEY, with the touch of haughtiness that comes of great topics, 'The plain smock has come in again, with silk lacing, giving that charming chic effect.'

       MRS. DOWEY. 'Oho!'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'I must say I was always partial to the straight line'--thoughtfully regarding the want of line in Mrs. Twymley's person--'though trying to them as is of too friendly a figure.'

       It is here that the Haggerty Woman's fingers close unostentatiously upon a piece of sugar.

       MRS. TWYMLEY, sailing into the Empyrean, 'Lady Dolly Kanister was seen conversing across the railings in a dainty de jou.'

       MRS. DOWEY. 'Fine would I have liked to see her.'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'She is equally popular as maid, wife, and munition-worker. Her two children is inset. Lady Pops Babington was married in a tight tulle.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'What was her going-away dress?'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'A champagny cream velvet with dreamy corsage. She's married to Colonel the Hon. Chingford--"Snubs," they

       called him at Eton.'

       4

       THE HAGGERTY WOMAN, having disposed of the sugar, 'Very likely he'll be sent to Salonaiky.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'Wherever he is sent, she'll have the same tremors as the rest of us. She'll be as keen to get the letters wrote

       with pencils as you or me.'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Them pencil letters!'

       MRS. DOWEY, in her sweet Scotch voice, timidly, afraid she may be going too far, 'And women in enemy lands gets those pencil letters and then stop getting them, the same as ourselves. Let's occasionally think of that.'

       She has gone too far. Chairs are pushed back. THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. 'I ask you!'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'That's hardly language, Mrs. Dowey.'

       MRS. DOWEY, scared, 'Kindly excuse. I swear to death I'm none of your pacifists.' MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'Freely granted.'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'I've heard of females that have no male relations, and so they have no man-party at the wars. I've heard of them, but I don't mix with them.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'What can the likes of us have to say to them? It's not their war.'

       MRS. DOWEY, wistfully, 'They are to be pitied.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'But the place for them, Mrs. Dowey, is within doors with the blinds down.'

       MRS. DOWEY, hurriedly, 'That's the place for them.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'I saw one of them to-day buying a flag. I thought it was very impudent of her.'

       MRS. DOWEY, meekly, 'So it was.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM, trying to look modest with indifferent success, 'I had a letter from my son, Percy, yesterday.'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Alfred sent me his photo.'

       THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. 'Letters from Salonaiky is less common.'

       Three bosoms heave, but not, alas, Mrs. Dowey's. Nevertheless she doggedly knits her lips.

       MRS. DOWEY, the criminal, 'Kenneth writes to me every week.' There are exclamations. The dauntless old thing holds aloft a packet

       of letters. 'Look at this. All his.' The Haggerty Woman whimpers.

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Alfred has little time for writing, being a bombardier.'

       MRS. DOWEY, relentlessly, 'Do your letters begin "Dear mother"?'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Generally.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'Invariable.'

       THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. 'Every time.'

       5

       MRS. DOWEY, delivering the knock-out blow, 'Kenneth's begin "Dearest mother.'"

       No one can think of the right reply.

       MRS. TWYMLEY, doing her best, 'A short man, I should say, judging by yourself.' She ought to have left it alone.

       MRS. DOWEY. 'Six feet two-and a half.' The gloom deepens.

       MRS. MICKLEHAM, against her better judgment, 'A kilty, did you tell me?'

       MRS. DOWEY. 'Most certainly. He's in the famous Black Watch.'

       THE HAGGERTY WOMAN, producing her handkerchief, 'The Surrey Rifles is the famousest.'

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'There you and the King disagrees, Mrs. Haggerty. His choice is the Buffs, same as my Percy's.'

       MRS. TWYMLEY, magnanimously, 'Give me the R.H.A. and you can keep all the rest.'

       MRS. DOWEY. 'I'm sure I have nothing to say against the Surreys and the R.H.A. and the Buffs; but they are just breeches regi-ments, I understand.'

       THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. 'We can't all be kilties.' MRS. DOWEY, crushingly, 'That's very true.'

       MRS. TWYMLEY. It is foolish of her, but she can't help saying it. 'Has your Kenneth great hairy legs?'

       MRS. DOWEY. 'Tremendous.'

       The wicked woman: but let us also say 'Poor Sarah Ann Dowey.' For at this moment, enter Nemesis. In other words, the less important part of a clergyman appears upon the stair.

       MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'It's the reverent gent!'

       MRS. DOWEY, little knowing what he is bringing her, 'I see he has had his boots heeled.'

       It may be said of Mr. Willings that his happy smile always walks in front of him. This smile makes music of his life, it means that once again he has been chosen, in his opinion, as the central figure in romance. No one can well have led a more drab existence, but he will never know it; he will always think of himself, humbly though elatedly, as the chosen of the gods. Of him must it have been originally written that adventures are for the adventurous. He meets them at every street corner. For instance, he assists an old lady off a bus, and asks her if he can be of any further help. She tells him that she wants to know the way to Maddox the butcher's. Then comes the kind, triumphant smile; it always comes first, followed by its explanation, 'I was there yesterday!' This is the merest sample of the adventures that keep Mr. Willings up to the mark.