"I'd read fast enough, Godwin," said Graeme, "if I'd got any incentive to do so. It's recognition I want; give me a start, I'll do the rest."
"Bah!" replied the other, "some men go without recognition all their lives, and still struggle on. And it may come yet, who knows? Be prepared for it when it does, that's my point; don't handicap yourself with ignorance. Now, I've got nothing to do for an hour, and if you like I'll——"
"Oh, thank you very much, Godwin; it's awfully good of you, but I'm afraid I can't stay now. There's my pony waiting outside, another time I shall be delighted," and here the conversation, as such conversations invariably did, ended in nothing.
Then a fresh disaster befell Hector, his one friend being called home to take up an appointment at the War Office, and with his departure the rapid decline of Graeme's fortunes began. With no mediator to intervene between them, Bradford's treatment of his A.D.C. became daily harsher, till at length his animosity began to be remarked on, and to give rise to the very comment he was so morbidly anxious to avoid; the juniors wondered how Hector could put up with his Chief's bullying; the seniors, why the General persisted in retaining on his staff an officer who, by his own showing, was so altogether incompetent and objectionable.
Bradford, accordingly, found himself in a quandary, for were he to dismiss Hector now, he might find his way to the staff of some other column leader, who—jealous as were most at that time of their kind—would be only too ready to listen to a tale belittling Bradford's recent achievements; while, on the other hand, did he keep Hector where he was, the suspicion would certainly arise that he had his reasons for doing so, those reasons being that his A.D.C. knew too much to be allowed to leave.
His whole frame of mind was an instance of the curious childishness that saps the intelligence of men, often deemed the strongest, who, while listening to the admiration expressed by the public for some edifice constructed by their hands, are all the time conscious of a flaw in its foundations, which at any minute may cause the building, and with it its architect's reputation, to crumble before their eyes. None of the spectators know of the flaw—probably never will know—but the architect does, and the alarming, though quite natural, cracking of the new edifice is to his mind the voice of the flaw, shouting its existence to all present. He hears it, they must too; and the slightest word—a careless suggestion uttered without reason or meaning—tells him that all is discovered, and he will be proclaimed an impostor.
Thus it was with Bradford. The most casual observation anent Hector and his doings on the fateful night would throw him into a fever of anxiety, the culminating point being reached on the occasion of a visit from the Commander-in-Chief to Gethsemane, when, in the course of conversation, he remarked that his host's A.D.C. certainly cultivated a somewhat remarkable style of dress, but to which, from what he had heard, other staff officers, notably Gneisenau, were similarly addicted. It was an unfortunate remark, and on hearing it Bradford grew hot with agitation. Gneisenau? He, then, was Blücher, and the Commander-in-Chief knew everything. Someone must have talked; someone in the column—probably Graeme himself. At the last thought a fury of hatred seized him, and, his distinguished guest having departed, he summoned Hector to his room, where he accused him point-blank of gossiping about him, his Chief. Graeme denied it. Bradford called him a liar, upon which Hector's pent-up rage broke loose, and he told Bradford what he thought of him.
With horrid accuracy he dissected his General's mind before his eyes, holding up the pieces for him to see, and concluded with a direct accusation of jealousy of one to whom alone he owed his recent honours and reputation.
"Yes," he said finally, "I lied that night, I own it, I did it to save you, and it did. It was the only way to get you on; you were all for going back, but I made up my mind you should not. Now you have it." He stopped, panting.
"Your ... quarters ... sir ... consider yourself..."