The Burning Spear: Being the Experiences of Mr. John Lavender in the Time of War

“Right-o, sir,” replied Joe; and, waiting till his master turned round, he seized him round the legs, and lifting that thin little body ascended the stairs, while Mr. Lavender, with the journals waving fanlike in his hands, his white hair on end, and his legs kicking, endeavoured to turn his head to see what agency was moving him.

At the top of the stairs they came on Mrs. Petty, who, having Scotch blood in her veins, stood against the wall to let them pass, with a hot bottle in either hand. Having placed Mr. Lavender in his bed and drawn the clothes up to his eyes, Joe Petty passed the back of his hand across his brow, and wrung it out.

“Phew!” he gasped; “he’s artful!”

His wife, who had followed them in, was already fastening her eyes on the carpet.

“What’s that?” she said, sniffing.

“That?” repeated Joe, picking up his pipe; “why, I had to run to ketch ‘im, and it fell out o’ me pocket.”

“And lighted itself,” said Mrs. Petty, darting, at the floor and taking up a glowing quid which had burned a little round hole in the carpet. “You’re a pretty one!”

“You can’t foresee those sort o’ things,” said Joe.

“You can’t foresee anything,” replied his wife; “you might be a Government. Here! hold the clothes while I get the bottles to his feet. Well I never! If he hasn’t got – ” And from various parts of Mr. Lavender’s body she recovered the five journals. “For putting things in the wrong place, Joe Petty, I’ve never seen your like!”

“They’ll keep ‘im warm,” said Joe.

Mr. Lavender who, on finding himself in bed, had once more fallen into a comatose condition, stirred, and some words fell from his lips. “Five in one, and one in five.”

“What does he say?” said Mrs. Petty, tucking him up.

“It’s the odds against Candelabra for the Derby.”

“Only faith,” cried Mr. Lavender, “can multiply exceedingly.”

“Here, take them away!” muttered Mrs. Petty, and dealing the journals a smart slap, she handed them to Joe.

“Faith!” repeated Mr. Lavender, and fell into a doze.

“About this new disease,” said Joe. “D’you think it’s ketchin’? I feel rather funny meself.”

“Stuff!” returned his wife. “Clear away those papers and that bone, and go and take Blink out, and sit on a seat; it’s all you’re fit for. Of all the happy-go-luckys you’re the worst.”

“Well, I never could worry,” said Joe from the doorway; “‘tisn’t in me. So long!”

And, dragging Blink by the collar, he withdrew.

Alone with her patient, Mrs. Petty, an enthusiast for cleanliness and fresh air, went on her knees, and, having plucked out the charred ring of the little hole in the carpet, opened the window wider to rid the room of the smell of burning. “If it wasn’t for me,” she thought, leaning out into the air, “I don’t know what’d become of them.”

A voice from a few feet away said:

“I hope he’s none the worse. What does the doctor say?”

Looking round in astonishment, Mrs. Petty saw a young lady leaning out of a window on her right.

“We can’t tell at present,” she said, with a certain reserve he is going on satisfactory.

“It’s not hydrophobia, is it?” asked the young lady. “You know he fell out of the window?

“What!” ejaculated Mrs. Petty.

“Where the lilac’s broken. If I can give you a hand I shall be very glad. I’m a V.A.D.”

“Thank you, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Petty stiffly, for the passion of jealousy, to which she was somewhat prone, was rising in her, “there is no call.” And she thought, “V.A. indeed! I know them.”

Poor dear said the young lady. “He did come a bump. It was awfully funny! Is he – er – ?” And she touched her forehead, where tendrils of fair hair were blowing in the breeze.

Inexpressibly outraged by such a question concerning one for whom she had a proprietary reverence, Mrs. Petty answered acidly:

“Oh dear no! He is much wiser than some people!”

“It was only that he mentioned the last man and the last dollar, you know,” said the young lady, as if to herself, “but, of course, that’s no real sign.” And she uttered a sudden silvery laugh.

Mrs. Petty became aware of something tickling her left ear, and turning round, found her master leaning out beside her, in his dressing-gown.

“Leave me, Mrs. Petty,” he said with such dignity that she instinctively recoiled. “It may seem to you,” continued Mr. Lavender, addressing the young lady, “indelicate on my part to resume my justification, but as a public man, I suffer, knowing that I have committed a breach of decorum.”

“Don’t you think you ought to keep quiet in bed?” Mrs. Petty heard the young lady ask.

“My dear young lady,” Mr. Lavender replied, “the thought of bed is abhorrent to me at a time like this. What more ignoble fate than to die in, one’s bed?”

“I’m only asking you to live in it,” said the young lady, while Mrs. Petty grasped her master by the skirts of his gown.

“Down, Blink, down!” said Mr. Lavender, leaning still further out.

“For pity’s sake,” wailed the young lady, “don’t fall out again, or I shall burst.”

“Ah, believe me,” said Mr. Lavender in a receding voice, “I would not pain you further for the world – ”

Mrs. Petty, exerting all her strength, had hauled him in.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, sir,” she said severely, “talking to a young lady like that in your dressing-gown?

“Mrs. Petty,” said Mr Lavender mysteriously, “it might have been worse… I should like some tea with a little lemon in it.”

Taking this for a sign of returning reason Mrs. Petty drew him gently towards the bed, and, having seen him get in, tucked him up and said:

“Now, sir, you never break your word, do you?”

“No public man – ” began Mr. Lavender.

“Oh, bother! Now, promise me to stay quiet in bed while I get you that tea.”

“I certainly shall,” replied our hero, “for I feel rather faint.”

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Petty. “I trust you.” And, bolting the window, she whisked out of the room and locked the door behind her.