"It is their profession, Mrs. Hulver," said Wenaston, as he moved towards the door.
"That's exactly what William, my third, used to say. He was an Irishman and his blood was soon up. When I complained one day about his being quarrelsome with a neighbour his reply was: 'Maria, me dear,' he always began like that—he was such a gentleman—'Maria, me dear; it's second nature for soldiers to fight, the same as it is for dogs to bark and bite. That's what the Government keeps us for; and a soldier who is worthy of the name doesn't think he is earning his pay without it.' I often used to look at the men loafing round barracks with nothing to do, and to think that in times of peace they were like chimneys that had no fire in them."
"Quite so! quite so!" said Wenaston, making his way to the door.
Mrs. Hulver followed closely with a continuous stream of remarks, from which he strove in vain to escape.
"As soon as ever young William is fit for it I'll send him to you, sir, for a good dressing-down. You must check him for his quick temper. As his own father used to say: 'A hasty man never wants for woe.' And I should be glad if you would point out the danger of drink and how it upsets the judgment. Also you might say a word or two on the folly of fighting when the odds are against you. Don't let him talk. Fill him up with as much good advice as you can get in in the time that you can spare for him. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'If counsel is good no matter who gives it.'"
"All right, Mrs. Hulver; I'll do my best," said Wenaston, as he beat a hasty retreat towards the college buildings. The housekeeper's tongue had won the day though she might not have known it, and his warning to her on softheartedness and the lecture to her son were still undelivered. However, he promised himself that he would interview the man later on alone when he was less of an "object," as his mother expressed it, and would talk to him seriously.
Mrs. Hulver stood at her door watching the Principal as he hurried away. When he had disappeared she turned back into the room and went to the patient. Leaning tenderly over him she placed her cool soft hand on his forehead, slipping it underneath the bandages.
"Cheer up, William; cheer up, sonnie!" she murmured. "God is where He was and He will help you through. It's no good fretting when grieving is no comfort. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'Things you can't avoid are best taken cheerfully.' No, don't try to speak. You've got to be silent till you're well, and I'll see that you're let off the master's lecture."
She called to the butler, who appeared immediately followed by the cook carrying a saucepan.
"It's all ready, ma'am."