Back to Billabong Part 4

"Well, you won't be late, because you won't be there," he said. "No going back to tea for you. We'll have dinner at the Pet.i.t Riche in Soho, and then we'll do a theatre, and then I'll take you home and we'll face the music. Are you game?"

Cecilia laughed.

"Game? Why, of course--but there will be awful scenes, Bobby."

"Well, what can she do to you?" asked Bob practically. "You're too big to beat, or she'd certainly do it; she can't stop your pay, because you don't get any; and as you have your meals with the youngsters, she can't dock your rations. That doesn't leave her much beside her tongue. Of course, she can do a good deal with that; do you think you can stand it?"

"Oh, yes," said Cecilia. "You see, I generally have it, so it really doesn't matter much. But if she forbids me to go out with you again, Bobby?"

Bob pondered.

"Well--you're nineteen," he said. "And the very first minute I can, I'm going to take you away from her altogether. If you were a kid I wouldn't let you defy her. But, hang it all, Tommy, I'm not going to let her punish you as though you were ten. If she forbids you to meet me--well, you must just take French leave, that's all."

"Oh, Bob, you are a satisfying person!" said Cecilia, with a sigh.

"Well, I don't know--it's you who will have to stand the racket," said Bob. "I only wish I could take my share, old girl. But, please goodness, it won't be for long."

"Bob," said Cecilia, and paused. "What about that statement of hers--that it would be illegal for you to take me away? Do you think it's true?"

"I've asked our Major, and he's a bit doubtful," said Bob. "All the other fellows say it's utter nonsense. But I'm going to ask the old lawyer chap who has charge of Aunt Margaret's money--he'll tell me. We won't bother about it, Tommy; if I can't get you politely, I'll steal you. Just forget the she-dragon and all her works."

"But have you thought about what you are going to do?"

"I don't think of much else, and that's the truth, Tommy," said her brother ruefully. "You see, there's mighty little in sight. I could get a clerkship, I suppose. I could certainly get work as a day labourer.

But I don't see much in either of those possibilities towards a little home with you, which is what I want. I'm going to answer every advertis.e.m.e.nt I can find for fellows wanted on farms." He straightened his square shoulders. "Tommy, there must be plenty of work for any chap as strong as an ox, as I am."

"I'm sure there's work," said Cecilia. "But the men who want jobs don't generally advertise themselves as 'complete with sister.' I'm what's technically known as an enc.u.mbrance, Bob."

"You!" said Bob. "You're just part of the firm, so don't you forget it.

Didn't we always arrange that we should stick together?"

"We did--but it may not be easy to manage," Cecilia said, doubtfully.

"Perhaps we could get some job together; I could do inside work, or teach, or sew."

"No!" said Bob explosively. "If I can't earn enough for us both, I ought to be shot, Aunt Margaret didn't bring you up to work."

"But the world has turned upside down since Aunt Margaret died," said Cecilia. "And I have worked pretty hard for the last two years, Bob; and it hasn't hurt me."

"It has made you older--and you ought to be only a kid yet," said Bob wistfully. "You haven't had any of the fun girls naturally ought to have. I don't want you to slave all your time, Tommy."

"Bless you!" said his sister. "But I wouldn't care a bit, as long as it was near you--and not in Lancaster Gate."

They had turned across Hyde Park, where a big company of girl guides was drilling, watched by a crowd of curious on-lookers. Across a belt of gra.s.s some boy scouts were performing similar evolutions, marching with all the extra polish and swagger they could command, just to show the guides that girls were all very well in their way, but that no one with skirts could really hope to do credit to a uniform. Cecilia paused to watch them.

"Thank goodness, the children can come and drill in the park again!" she said. "I hated to come here before the armistice--soldiers, soldiers, drilling everywhere, and guns and searchlight fixings. Whenever I saw a squad drilling it made me think of you, and of course I felt sure you'd be killed!"

"I do like people who look on the bright side of life!" said Bob laughing. "And whenever you saw an aeroplane I suppose you made sure I was crashing somewhere?"

"Certainly I did," said his sister with dignity.

"Women are queer things," Bob remarked. "If you had these unpleasant beliefs, how did you manage to write as cheerfully as you did? Your letters were a scream--I used to read bits of 'em out to the fellows."

"You had no business to do any such thing," said Cecilia, blushing.

"Well, I did, anyhow. They used to make 'em yell. How did you manage them?"

"Well, it was no good a.s.suring you you'd be killed," said Cecilia practically. "I thought it was more sensible to try to make you laugh."

"You certainly did that," said Bob. "I fancied from your letters that life with the she-dragon was one huge joke, and that Papa was nice and companionable, and the kids, sweet little darlings who ate from your hand. And all the time you were just the poor old toad under the harrow!"

"I'm not a toad!" rejoined his sister indignantly. "Don't you think you could find pleasanter things to compare me to?"

"Toads aren't bad," said Bob, laughing. "Ever seen the nice old fellow in the Zoo who shoots out a tongue a yard long and picks up a grub every time? He's quite interesting."

"I certainly never had any inclination to do any such thing," Cecilia laughed.

They had turned into Piccadilly and were walking down, watching the crowded motor traffic racing north and south. Suddenly Bob straightened up and saluted smartly, as a tall staff officer, wearing a general's badges, ran down the steps of a big club, and nearly cannoned into Cecilia.

"I beg your pardon!" he said--and then, noticing Bob--"How are you, Rainham?" He dived into a waiting taxi, and was whisked away.

"Did he b.u.mp you?" inquired Bob.

"No--though it would be almost a privilege to be b.u.mped by anyone as splendid as that!" Cecilia answered. "He knows you, too!--who is he, Bobby?"

"That's General Harran, the Australian," said Bob proudly. "He's a great man. I've run into him occasionally since I've been with the Australians in France."

"He looks nice."

"He is nice," replied Bob. "Awful martinet about duty, but he treats every one under him jolly well. Never forgets a face or a name, and he's always got a decent word for everybody. He's had some quite long talks to me, when we were waiting for some 'plane or other to come back."

"Why wouldn't he?" asked Cecilia, who considered it a privilege for anyone to talk to her brother.

Bob regarded her in amazement.

"Good gracious!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Why, he's a major-general; I can tell you, most men of his rank haven't any use for small fry like me--to talk to, that is."

Cecilia had a flash of memory.

"Isn't he the general who was close by when you brought that German aeroplane down behind our lines? Didn't he say nice things to you about it?"

"Oh, that was only in the way of business," said Bob somewhat confused.

"The whole thing was only a bit of luck--and, of course, it was luck, too, that he was there. But he is just as nice to fellows who haven't had a chance like that."

Out of the crowd two more figures in Air Force uniform came, charging at Bob with outstretched hands.

"By Jove, old chap! What luck to meet you!"

They shook hands tumultuously, and Bob made them known to Cecilia--comrades he had not seen for months, but with whom he had shared many strange experiences in the years of war. They fell into quick talk, full of the queer jargon of the air. The newcomers, it appeared, had been with the army of occupation in Germany; there seemed a thousand things they urgently desired to tell Bob within the next few minutes. One turned to Cecilia, presently, with a laughing interpretation of some highly technical bit of slang.