“D'you 'ear, Alf?” said the soldier. “D'you think they would?”
The soldier, addressed put a finger to the sound side of his mouth and uttered a catcall.
“I might effect a radical change in their views,” continued Mr. Lavender, a little puzzled. “Let me leave you this periodical. Read it, and you will see how extremely vital all that I have been saying is. And then, perhaps, if you would send me a round robin, such as is usual in a democratic country, I could pop over almost any day after five. I sometimes feel”—and here Mr. Lavender stopped in the middle of the road, overcome by sudden emotion—“that I have really no right to be alive when I see what you have suffered for me.”
“That's all right, old bean,”, said the soldier on his left; “you'd 'a done the same for us but for your disabilities. We don't grudge it you.”
“Boys,” said Mr. Lavender, “you are men. I cannot tell you how much I admire and love you.”
“Well, give it a rest, then; t'ain't good for yer. And, look 'ere! Any time they don't treat you fair in there, tip us the wink, and we'll come over and do in your 'ousekeeper.”
Mr. Lavender smiled.
“My poor housekeeper!” he said. “I thank you all the same for your charming goodwill. This is where I live,” he added, stopping at the gate of the little house smothered in lilac and laburnum. “Can I offer you some tea?”
The three soldiers looked at each other, and Mr. Lavender, noticing their surprise, attributed it to the word tea.
“I regret exceedingly that I am a total abstainer,” he said.