"Yes," Carew said meditatively; "I wish there had been glory enough to go around.As long as there wasn't, though, I am glad it was fated to fall to your share."Weldon hurled a little black stone at a great black rock.
"Not so much glory, after all."
Carew raised his eyes and apostrophized the dark gray clouds rushing across the paler gray arch of the sky.
"Just listen to the man! What can he be wanting? 'Not so much glory!' And he recommended for a V.C.!"Weldon shook his head.
"What does it profit a man," he paraphrased; "if he gain the V.C.
and lose one of his best friends? Besides, I didn't gain it; it was fated.Paddy was as brave as I, and so were half a dozen more of them.It was only chance that brought me through the bullets.""Poor Paddy!" Carew's tone was full of thoughtful regret.
"Not poor at all.He had the end we all are wishing for.He died with his boots on, and fighting pluckily for a forlorn hope.We can't mourn a man that we envy."Half way to the distant sky-line, the horses of the squadron were grazing peacefully over the stubbly grass.The corporal and the third of the troopers appointed to guard them were far away towards the crest of a ridge to the westward, and Carew and Weldon were alone.Carew sat silent for a moment, his eyes on the scattered groups of horses.Then he turned and looked directly at his friend.
"Perhaps," he assented."I was sorry to be out of the scrimmage.It took all my grit to obey you, old man; but it was an order.Now it is over--""Well?" Weldon prompted him.
"Now it is over, I am less sorry than I was.The fact is, the future holds a good deal for us.""For you, perhaps."
"For you, too.The whole future of a man doesn't go to wreck in an hour.There are other crises later on, and some of them are bound to come out well.Save yourself for those, Weldon.There is no especial use in throwing yourself away.""I'm not.But, when the order comes, I must obey it," Weldon said gloomily.
"It depends something on the order; but it depends a good sight more on the way you obey it.When a man comes into collision with a bulldog, it's generally wise to grapple with him back of his teeth;else, you may lose a thumb or two.It's the same way with your orders here.Because you don't funk, there is no reason you should flirt with an early death.""But I don't."
"What about now?"
"What do you mean?"
"That you ought to be in hospital."
Weldon threw back his head and laughed, but mirthlessly.
"Why, then?"
Without speaking, Carew took out his pipe, filled it and began fumbling in his pocket.
"Have you a match?" he asked.
Weldon nodded, produced the match, lighted it and held it to the extended pipe.Carew's eyes, drooped to the bowl, watched the bit of flame.
"Do you call that a steady hand?" he asked then."Man, you're ill, Itell you.Your face is hot and your hands are cold, and your nerves are worn to shoestrings, frayed shoestrings at that.If you keep on, you'll be down flatter than you like.You ought to have stopped four weeks ago."Weldon crossed his arms at the nape of his neck and lay back at his ease on the ground.
"Then what would have become of my V.C.?" he queried, with languid indifference.
"But I thought you claimed not to care for your V.C.""I don't.My friends may, however." "As a legacy? I think your friends may possibly choose you to the V.C.""Foolish of them," Weldon commented."Still, 'If we could choose the time, and choose aright, 'T were best to die, our honor at the height.' I learned that when I was a small boy; but I've only just found out what it means."With scoffing lips, but eyes full of unspoken love, Carew turned on his friend.
"Don't dodder, Weldon," he counselled him."That's canting drivvle, made to console the unsuccessful.No man knows when he has reached his high-water mark.Yours may have come on the day you licked Stevie Ballard for gilding the tailless cat; it may not come till you are ninety.""No." The syllable was quiet, deliberate.Then Weldon roused himself and sat up to speak with sudden energy."Promise me this, Carew, that while the matter is hanging fire, you won't mention this V.C.
business to any one."
Carew stared at him in unmixed surprise.
"What's the matter now?" he asked blankly.
"Nothing, only that I want you to promise.""Not to--"
"Not to a living soul."
"Why? What's the use?"
"No use, but my wish.If it comes off, let it be as a joyous surprise.If it misses fire, as it quite well may, then there'll be no harm done.In either case, it is best to keep still.My own notion is that I'll not get it.As a rule, one doesn't get the V.C.
for shinning up the side of a hill, no matter how steep it is."Carew made no attempt to discuss the chances.Instead, he merely asked,--"Mayn't I tell Miss Mellen?"
Weldon shook his head.It was exactly to prevent the inevitable consequences of Alice Mellen's knowing the story that he was seeking to extort the promise from Carew.To protect his motive, however, he took a sudden resolution.
"I shall not even tell my mother," he answered, with slow emphasis.
Carew raised his brows.
"Then I suppose that ties my tongue.I am sorry.What's the use of being so confoundedly modest, Weldon?""Do you promise?"
"I suppose I must."
"On your honor?"
"On my honor."
Weldon stretched himself out at full length once more.
