by Sapper
“‘They’re all right, sir,’ he said. ‘In another two or three years there will be none better in the British Army. Especially Trevor.’
“‘Ah! Sergeant-Major,’ I said, looking him straight in the face, ‘you think Trevor is a good man, do you?’
“‘The best we’ve got, sir,’ he answered quietly, and he stared straight back at me.
“‘You weren’t so sure when he first came,’ I reminded him.
“‘Well, I reckon there was a bit of jealousy, sir,’ he replied, ‘his coming in from the link regiment over a good many of the chaps’ heads. But he’s been with us now three months – and we know him better.’
“‘I wish I could say the same,’ I answered. ‘He defeats me, does Sergeant Trevor.’
“The Sergeant-Major smiled quietly. ‘Does he, sir? I shouldn’t have thought he would have. That there bloke Kipling has written about the likes of Trevor.’
“‘Kipling has written a good deal about the Army,’ I said, with an answering smile. ‘Mulvaney and Co are classics.’
“‘It’s not Mulvaney I’m meaning, sir,’ he answered. ‘But didn’t he write a little bit of poetry about “Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree”?’
“‘Why, yes, he did.’ I lit a cigarette thoughtfully. ‘I’d guessed that much, Manfield. Is Trevor his real name?’
“‘I don’t know, sir,’ and at that moment the subject of our discussion walked past and saluted.
“‘Sergeant Trevor,’ I called after him, on the spur of the moment, and he came up at the double. I hadn’t anything really to say to him, but ever since he’d joined us he’d puzzled me, and though, as the sergeant-major said, the other non-commissioned officers might know him better, I certainly didn’t.
“‘You’re a bit of a cricketer, aren’t you?’ I said, as he came up.
“A faint smile flickered across his face at my question. ‘I used to play quite a lot, sir,’ he answered.
“‘Good; we want to get games going really strong.’ I talked with them both – squadron ‘shop’ – a bit longer, and all the time I was trying to probe behind the impassive mask of Trevor’s face. Incidentally, I think he knew it; once or twice I caught a faint gleam of amusement in his eyes – a gleam that seemed to me a little weary. And when I left them and went across the parade ground towards the mess, his face haunted me. I hadn’t probed – not the eighth of an inch; he was still as much a mystery as ever. But he’d got a pair of deep blue eyes, and though I wasn’t a girl to be attracted by a man’s eyes, I couldn’t get his out of my mind. They baffled me; the man himself baffled me – and I’ve always disliked being baffled.
“It was a few nights after, in mess, that the next piece in the puzzle came along. We had in the regiment – he was killed in the war, poor devil! – a fellow of the name of Blenton, a fairly senior captain. He wasn’t in my squadron, and his chief claim to notoriety was as a cricketer. Had he been able to play regularly he would have been easily up to first-class form – as it was he periodically turned out for the county; but he used to go in first wicket down for the Army. So you can gather his sort of form.
“It was over the port that the conversation cropped up, and it interested me because it was about Trevor. As far as cricket was concerned I hardly knew which end of a bat one held.
“‘Dog-face has got a winner,’ I heard Blenton say across the table. I may say that I answered to that tactful sobriquet, for reasons into which we need not enter. ‘One Sergeant Trevor in your squadron, old boy,’ he turned to me. ‘I was watching him at the nets tonight.’
“‘Is he any good?’ I said.
“‘My dear fellow,’ answered Blenton, deliberately, ‘he is out and away the best bat we’ve had in the regiment for years. He’s up to Army form!’
“‘Who’s that?’ demanded the commanding officer, sitting up and taking notice at once.
“‘Sergeant Trevor in B squadron, Colonel,’ said Blenton. ‘I was watching him this evening at nets. Of course, the bowling was tripe, but he’s in a completely different class to the average soldier cricketer.’
“‘Did you talk to him?’ I asked, curiously.
“‘I did. And he struck me as being singularly uncom-municative. Asked him where he learnt his cricket, and he hummed and hawed, and finally said he’d played a lot in his village before joining the Army. I couldn’t quite make him out, Dog-face. And why the devil didn’t he play for us out in Jo’burg?’
“‘Because he only joined a couple of months before we sailed,’ I answered. ‘Came with that last draft we got.’
“‘Well, I wish we had a few more trained in his village,’ said Blenton. ‘We could do with them.’
“After mess, I tackled Philip Blenton in the anteroom.
“‘What’s your candid opinion of Trevor, Philip?’ I demanded.
“He stopped on his way to play bridge, and bit the end off his cigar.
“‘As a cricketer,’ he said, ‘or as a man?’
“‘Both,’ I answered.
“‘Well, my candid opinion is that he learned his game at a first-class public school,’ he replied. ‘And I am further of the opinion, from the few words I spoke to him, that one would have expected to find him here and not in the Sergeants’ Mess. What’s his story? Do you know?’
“‘I don’t.’ I shook my head. ‘Haven’t an idea. But you’ve confirmed my own impressions.’
“And there I had to leave it for some months. Periodically I talked to Trevor, deliberately tried to trap him into some admission which would give me a clue to his past, but he was as wary as a fox and as close as an oyster. I don’t know why I took the trouble – after all, it was his business entirely, but the fellow intrigued me. He was such an extraordinarily fine NCO, and there was never a sign of his hitting the bottle, which is the end of a good many gentlemen-rankers. Moreover, he didn’t strike me as a fellow who had come a cropper, which is the usual cause of his kind.
“And then one day, when I least expected it, the problem began to solve itself. Philip Blenton rang me up in the morning after breakfast, from a house in the neighbourhood, where he was staying for a couple of two-day matches. Could I possibly spare Sergeant Trevor for the first of them? Against the I Z, who had brought down a snorting team, and Carter – the Oxford blue – had failed the local eleven at the last moment. If I couldn’t they’d have to rake in one of the gardeners, but they weren’t too strong as it was.
So I sent for Trevor, and asked him if he’d care to play. I saw his eyes gleam for a moment; then he shook his head.
“‘I think not, thank you, sir,’ he said, quietly.
“It’s not quite like you to let Captain Blenton down, Trevor,’ I remarked. ‘He’s relying on you.’
“I knew it was the right note to take with him, and I was very keen on his playing. I was going out myself that afternoon to watch, and I wanted to see him in different surroundings. We argued for a bit – I knew he was as keen as mustard in one way to play – and after a while he said he would. Then he went out of the office, and as it happened I followed him. There was an old cracked mirror in the passage outside, and as I opened the door he had just shut behind him, I had a glimpse of Sergeant Trevor examining his face in the glass. He’d got his hand so placed that it blotted out his moustache, and he seemed very intent on his reflection. Then he saw me, and for a moment or two we stared at one another in silence. Squadron-leader and troop-sergeant had gone; we were just two men, and the passage was empty. And I acted on a sudden impulse, and clapped him on the back.
“‘Don’t be a fool, man,’ I cried. ‘Is there any reason why you shouldn’t be recognised?’
“‘Nothing shady, Major,’ he answered, quietly. ‘But if one starts on a certain course, it’s best to go through with it!’
“At that moment the pay-sergeant appeared, an
d Trevor pulled himself together, saluted smartly, and was gone.
“I suppose these things are planned out beforehand,” went on the Soldier, thoughtfully. “To call it all blind chance seems a well-nigh impossible solution to me. And yet the cynic would assuredly laugh at connecting a child eating an orange in a back street in Oxford, and the death while fishing in Ireland of one of the greatest-hearted men that ever lived. But unless that child had eaten that orange, and left the peel on the pavement for Carter, the Oxford blue, to slip on and sprain his ankle, the events I am going to relate would, in all probability, never have taken place. However, since delving too deeply into cause and effect inevitably produces insanity, I’d better get on with it.
“I turned up about three o’clock at Crosby Hall, along with four or five other fellows from the regiment. Usual sort of stunt – marquee and lemonade, with whisky in the background for the hopeless cases. The I Z merchants were in the field, and Trevor was batting. There was an Eton boy in with him, and the score was two hundred odd for five wickets. Philip Blenton lounged up as soon as he saw me, grinning all over his face.
“‘Thank Heaven you let him come, old man! He’s pulled eighty of the best out of his bag already, and doesn’t look like getting out.’
“‘He wouldn’t come at first, Philip,’ I said, and he stared at me in surprise. ‘I think he was afraid of being recognised.’
“A burst of applause greeted a magnificent drive past cover point, and for a while we watched the game in silence, until another long round of cheering announced that Sergeant Trevor had got his century. As I’ve said before, I’m no cricketer, but there was no need to be an expert to realise that he was something out of the way. He was treating the by-no-means-indifferent I Z bowling with the utmost contempt, and old Lord Apson, our host, was beside himself with joy. He was a cricket maniac; his week was an annual fixture; and for the first time for many years he saw his team really putting it across the I Z. And it was just as I was basking in a little reflected glory that I saw a very dear old friend of mine arrive in the enclosure, accompanied by a perfectly charming girl.
“‘Why, Yeverley, old man!’ I cried, ‘how are you?’
“‘Dog-face, as I live!’ he shouted, seizing me by both hands. ‘Man-alive, I’m glad to see you. Let me introduce you to my wife; Doris, this is Major Chilham – otherwise Dog-face.’
“I shook hands with the girl, who was standing smiling beside him, and for a while we stopped there talking. He was fifteen years or so older than I, and had left the service as a Captain, but we both came from the same part of the country, and in days gone by I’d known him very well indeed. His marriage had taken place four years previously while I was abroad, and now, meeting his wife for the first time, I recalled bit by bit the gossip I’d heard in letters I got from home. How to everyone’s amazement he’d married a girl young enough to be his daughter; how everybody had prophesied disaster, and affirmed that she was not half good enough for one of the elect like Giles Yeverley; how she’d been engaged to someone else and thrown him over. And yet as I looked at them both it struck me that the Jeremiahs had as usual been completely wrong: certainly nothing could exceed the dog-like devotion in Giles’ eyes whenever he looked at his wife.
“We strolled over to find some easy chairs, and he fussed round her as if she was an invalid. She took it quite naturally and calmly with a faint and charming smile, and when he finally bustled away to talk to Apson, leaving me alone with her, she was still smiling.
“‘You know Giles well?’ she said.
“‘Awfully well,’ I answered. ‘And having now returned from my sojourn in the wilds, I hope I shall get to know his wife equally well.’
“‘That’s very nice of you, Dog-face’ – she turned and looked at me – and, by Jove, she was pretty. ‘If you’re anything like Giles – you must be a perfect dear.’
“Now I like that sort of a remark when it’s made in the right way. It establishes a very pleasant footing at once, with no danger of misconstruction – like getting on good terms with a new horse the moment you put your feet in the irons, instead of messing around for half the hunt. Anyway, for the next ten minutes or so I didn’t pay very much attention to the cricket. I gathered that there was one small son – Giles junior – who was the apple of his father’s eye; and that at the moment a heavy love affair was in progress between the young gentleman aged three and the General’s daughter, who was as much as four, and showed no shame over the matter whatever. Also that Giles and she were stopping with the General and his wife for a week or ten days.
“And it was at that stage of the proceedings that a prolonged burst of applause made us look at the cricket. Sergeant Trevor was apparently out – how I hadn’t an idea – and was halfway between the wickets and the tent next to the one in which we were sitting, and which Apson always had erected for the local villagers and their friends. I saw them put up one hundred and twenty-five on the board as Trevor’s score, and did my share in the clapping line.
“‘A fine player – that fellow,’ I said, following him with my eyes. ‘Don’t know much about the game myself, but the experts tell me–’ And at that moment I saw her face, and stopped abruptly. She had gone very white, and her knuckles were gleaming like the ivory on the handle of her parasol.
“‘Major Chilham,’ she said – and her voice was the tensest thing I’ve ever heard – ‘who is that man who has just come out?’
“‘Trevor is his name,’ I answered, quietly. ‘He’s one of the troop-sergeants in my squadron.’ I was looking at her curiously, as the colour slowly came back to her face. ‘Why? Did you think you knew him?’
“‘He reminded me of someone I knew years ago,’ she said, sitting back in her chair. ‘But of course I must have been mistaken.’
“And then rather abruptly she changed the conversation, though every now and then she glanced towards the next tent, as if trying to see Trevor. And sitting beside her I realised that there was something pretty serious in the wind. She was on edge, though she was trying not to show it – and Trevor was the cause, or the man who called himself Trevor. All my curiosity came back, though I made no allusion to him; I was content to await further developments.
“They weren’t long in coming. The house team, with the respectable total of three hundred and fifty odd, were all out by teatime, and both elevens forgathered in the tent behind. All, that is, except Trevor, who remained in the other until Apson himself went and pulled him out. I watched the old man, with his cheery smile, take Trevor by the elbow and literally drag him out of his chair; I watched Trevor in his blue undress jacket, smart as be damned, coming towards us with our host. And then very deliberately I looked at Giles Yeverley’s wife. She was staring over my head at the two men; then she lowered her parasol.
“‘So you weren’t mistaken after all, Mrs Giles,’ I said, quietly.
“‘No, Dog-face, I wasn’t,’ she answered. ‘Would you get hold of Giles for me, and tell him I’d like to get back. Say I’m not feeling very well.’
“I got up at once and went in search of her husband. I found him talking to the Zingari captain and Sergeant Trevor. He seemed quite excited, appealing as he spoke to the I Z skipper, while Trevor stood by listening with a faint smile.
“‘What he says is quite right, Sergeant Trevor,’ remarked the Zingari man as I came up. ‘If you cared to consider it – you are absolutely up to the best county form. Of course, I don’t know about your residential qualifications, but that can generally be fixed.’
“‘Dog-face,’ cried Yeverley, as soon as he saw me, ‘he’s in your squadron, isn’t he? Well, it’s so long since I left the Army that I’ve forgotten all about discipline – but I tell you here – right now in front of him – that Sergeant Trevor ought to chuck soldiering and take up professional cricket. Bimbo here agrees with me.’
“‘Giles, you’ll burst your
waistcoat if you get so excited,’ I remarked, casually. ‘And, incidentally, Mrs Yeverley wants to go home.’
“As I said the name I looked at Trevor, and my last doubt vanished. He gave a sudden start, which Giles, who had immediately torn off to his wife, didn’t see, and proceeded to back into the farthest corner of the tea tent. But once again old Apson frustrated him. Not for him the endless pauses and waits of first-class cricket; five minutes to roll the pitch and he was leading his team into the field. Trevor had to go from his sanctuary, and there was only one exit from the enclosure in front of the tent.
“They met – Mrs Giles and Trevor – actually at that exit. By the irony of things, I think it was Giles who caused the meeting. He hurried forward as he saw Trevor going out, and caught him by the arm; dear old chap! – he was cricket mad if ever a man was. And so blissfully unconscious of the other, bigger thing going on right under his nose.
“‘Don’t you forget what I said, Trevor,’ he said, earnestly. ‘Any county would be glad to have you. I’m going to talk to Major Chilham about it seriously.’
“And I doubt if Trevor heard a word. Over Giles’ shoulder he was staring at Giles’ wife – and she was staring back at him, while her breast rose and fell in little gasps, and it seemed to me that her lips were trembling. Then it was over; Trevor went out to field – Giles bustled back to his wife. And I, being a hopeless case, went in search of alcohol.”
The Soldier paused to light another cigar.
“He carried out his threat, did Giles with regard to me. Two or three days later I lunched with the General, and it seemed to me that we never got off the subject of Trevor. It wasn’t only his opinion; had not Bimbo Lawrence, the I Z captain, and one of the shrewdest judges of cricket in England, agreed with him? And so on without cessation about Trevor, the cricketer, while on the opposite side of the table, next to me, sat his wife, who could not get beyond Trevor, the man. Once or twice she glanced at me appealingly, as if to say: ‘For God’s sake, stop him!’ – but it was a task beyond my powers. I made one or two abortive attempts, and then I gave it up. The situation was beyond me; one could only let him ramble on and pray for the end of lunch.