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Page 18
And Annesley, the kid, who had made his lieutenant's commission so
unexpectedly, had broken in: "That's no shakes to the socks I've got on.
If somebody'll pull off my boots I'll show you. Made in Poughkeepsie. A
dozen pairs. _Not_ my mother."
Lance smiled wistfully. Since his own mother died, eight years ago, he
had drifted about unanchored, and though women had inevitably held out
hands to the tall and beautiful lad, they were not the sort he cared
for, and there had been none of his own sort in his life. Fate might so
easily have given him a chance to serve his country, with also, maybe,
just the common sweet things added which utmost every fellow had, and a
woman or two to give him a sendoff and to write him letters over there
sometimes. To be a soldier--and to be somebody's soldier! Why, these two
things would mean Heaven! And hundreds of thousands of American boys
had these and thought nothing of it. Fate certainly had been a bit
stingy with a chap, considered David Lance, smiling into his little fire
with a touch of wistful self-pity.
At this moment Fate, in smart, dark livery, knocked at his door. "Come
in," shouted Lance cheerfully.
The door opened and he stared. Somebody had lost the way. Chauffeurs in
expensive livery did not come to his hall bedroom. "Is dis yer Mr.
Lance?" inquired Jackson.
Lance admitted it and got the note and read it while Jackson, knowing
his Family intimately, knew that something pleasant and surprising was
afoot and assisted with a discreet regard. When he saw that the note was
finished, Jackson confidently put in his word. "Cyar's waitin', sir.
Orders is I was to tote you to de house."
Lance's eyes glowered as he looked up. "Tell me one thing," he demanded.
"Yes, sir," grinned Jackson, pleased with this young gentleman from a
very poor neighborhood, who quite evidently was, all the same,
"quality."
"Are you," inquired Lance, "are you any relation to Aunt Basha?"
Jackson, for all his efficiency a friendly soul, forgot the dignity of
his livery and broke into chuckles. "Naw, sir; naw, sir. I dunno de
lady, sir; I reckon I ain't, sir," answered Jackson.
"All right, then, but it's the mistake of your life not to be. She's the
best on earth. Wait till I brush my hair," said Lance, and did it.
Inside three minutes he was in the big Pierce-Arrow, almost as
unfamiliar, almost as delightful to him as to Aunt Basha, and speeding
gloriously through the streets. The note had said that some kinspeople
had just discovered him, and would he come straight to them for lunch.
Mrs. Cabell and Eleanor crowded frankly to the window when the car
stopped.
"I can't wait to see David's boy," cried Mrs. Cabell, and Eleanor, wise
of her generation, followed with:
"Now, don't expect much; he may be deadly."
And out of the limousine stepped, unconscious, the beautiful David, and
handed Jackson a dollar.
"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Cabell.
"It was silly, but I love it," added Eleanor; and David limped swiftly
up the steps, and one heard Ebenezer, the butler, opening the door with
suspicious promptness. Everyone in the house knew, mysteriously, that
uncommon things were doing.
"Pendleton," spoke Mrs. Cabell, lying in wait for her son, the great
doctor, as he came from his office at lunch time, "Pen, dear, let me
tell you something extraordinary." She told, him, condensing as might
be, and ended with; "And oh, Pen, he's the most adorable boy I ever saw.
And so lonely and so poor and so plucky. Heartbroken because he's lame
and can't serve. You'll cure him. Pen, dear, won't you, for his
country?"
The tall, tired man bent down and kissed his mother. "Mummy, I'm not God
Almighty. But I'll do my damdest for anything you want. Show me the
paragon."
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