The Human Boy and the War

by Eden Phillpotts

"You can't blame a flapper for thinking you are of age to join the Army, Bradwell. Anybody would think so, and lots of younger-looking chaps than you have said they were eighteen, and been passed without a murmur, though their birth certificates would have given them away. But anybody six feet high and with a clearly visible black moustache, and with your muscles, would pass the authorities, and you may bet that many have."

He merely goggled, and said no doubt I was right.

I must tell you that "Turbot" had no father or mother, and, in fact, nobody but a single, oldish aunt who lived at Plymouth. But he had a guardian, who sent him to Merivale when his family unfortunately died; and at first he stopped at Merivale in the holidays. But once the aunt took him for a fortnight at Easter; and she appeared to like him, for, after that, he always went to her. The guardian did not, however, like "Turbot," and "Turbot" would have been quite content to stop at Merivale in the holidays, rather than spend his time with the guardian, who had no friendly feeling for him. In fact, you may say that "Turbot" was a duty rather than a pleasure to the guardian.

Then, at the beginning of the autumn term, in the first year of the War, "Turbot's" aunt wrote to Dr. Dunston and asked if "Turbot" might spend Saturday till Monday with her, because it was going to be his birthday; and the Doctor gave permission.

So "Turbot" went, and naturally was not missed in any way till Monday morning. Then at roll-call before chapel, the "Turbot's" well-known bleat was not heard, and it was soon perceived that he'd done something very much out of the common.

Nothing had been heard from his aunt, apparently, and so a telegram was dispatched to her, and, as no reply came to it, Dr. Dunston began to worry. He then sent off a telegram to the guardian, and the excitement decidedly thickened. After dinner the Doctor sent for me, as head boy, and told me that the guardian had heard nothing whatever about "Turbot."

"I may tell you, Travers," he said, "though there is no reason to repeat it, that Bradwell is not persona grata with the gentleman who stands to him in loco parentis. That is unfortunate for Bradwell, because he may lack friends in the future, being a boy without any mental ability, or that charm and power to please we occasionally find in the stupid lad. His guardian, however, evinces no uneasiness at the disappearance of Bradwell, and my knowledge of human nature inclines me to doubt if the individual in question will much care whether Bradwell returns or does not. I speak, of course, in confidence. But he is a busy man, and has a large family of his own, with its concomitant anxieties. He sends his own boys to Harrow, and it is not for us to judge his motives in so doing, or whether they are guided by disinterested desire for the future welfare of an obscure attorney's sons, or influenced by that spirit of snobbishness from which few Englishmen are entirely free.

"Now, I shall ask you this afternoon, Travers, to undertake a little mission which I can safely trust to you. We are, as you know, very short-handed, and to spare a master is almost impossible. I will therefore invite you to go as far as Plymouth, call at No. 10 Mutley Plain Villas, and ask to see Miss Mason, the maternal aunt of Bradwell, and his sole surviving relative. It is a somewhat delicate duty, and you must regard it as a compliment that I seek your aid. Here is half a crown for your return railway fare. You will alight at Mutley Station, and should catch the five-thirty train back to Merivale. The lady has not responded to my telegram, hence my desire, before putting the matter in the hands of the police, to learn all she may be able to tell us. Present my card, and she will see you at once if at home. If not, wait until she returns."

It was rather a responsible thing, and a great compliment to me. So I went, first putting on my best clothes and a new pair of gloves. Arrived at Plymouth, I got out at Mutley, and easily found Mutley Plain Villas, which were only a quarter of a mile from the railway. The house was small, but very neat in appearance, and the door-knocker, which was of highly polished brass, gave a loud tapping sound into the hall. There was no sign of the "Turbot."

A servant of considerable age answered my knock, and when I asked her if Miss Mason was at home, she replied that she was. She told me to walk in, which I did. I then gave her Dr. Dunston's card, and was shown into a neat drawing-room, which had a piano in it, and a pile of khaki wool on a sofa. There was also an illustrated newspaper in the room, and I sat down on a chair and read the illustrated newspaper until Miss Mason arrived.