Anita fixed her eyes on Mrs. McGillicuddy's honest, rubicund face, and listened breathlessly as Mrs. McGillicuddy continued:
"And Mr. Broussard says the Philippines is one big hell full of little hells, and nobody can get warm there in winter, or cool in summer, but there's lots of life to be seen there, and he's a-seein' it. And Blizzard is so far away, he can't sometimes believe there ever was such a place."
Suddenly, without the least warning, a quick warm gush of tears fell on Anita's cheeks. They were so far apart, the jungles and the icy peaks, the palm tree on the burning sands, and the pine tree in the frozen mountains! Anita walked quickly out of the room. Mrs. McGillicuddy, soft-hearted as she was hard-handed, looked at Mrs. Fortescue. The mother's eyes were moist; Anita was very unlike her, but Mrs. Fortescue remembered a period in her own young life when she, too, felt that the world was empty because of the absence of the Beloved. And suppose he had never come back? Mrs. Fortescue, remembering the brimming cup of happiness that had been hers merely because the man she loved came back, felt a little frightened for Anita. The girl was so precocious, so passionate—and how difficult and baffling are those women whose loves are all passion!
Anita baffled her mother still more, by appearing an hour later in a gay little gown, and taking the After-Clap from his crib and dancing with him until he absolutely refused to go to sleep. Then, Anita was in such high spirits at dinner that the Colonel told Mrs. Fortescue in their nightly talk while the Colonel smoked, he believed Anita had completely forgotten Broussard. At this, Mrs. Fortescue smiled and remained as silent as the Sphinx.
The winter was slipping by, and work and study and play went on in the snow-bound fort, and Colonel Fortescue was congratulating himself upon the wonderfully good report he could make of his command. There had not been a man missing in the whole month of February. But one day Lawrence, the gentleman-ranker, was reported missing.
The Colonel had no illusions concerning broken men and said so to Mrs. Fortescue.
"The fellow has deserted—that's the way most of the broken men end. He was in the aviation field yesterday and his going away was not premeditated, as he did not ask for leave. But something came in the way of temptation, and he couldn't stand it, and ran away."
The "something" was revealed by Sergeant McGillicuddy, with a pale face, while he was shut up with the Colonel in his office.
"It's partly my fault, sir," said the Sergeant. "The fellow has been doing his duty pretty well, and yesterday, on the aviation field, the aviation orficer was praisin' him for his work. You know, sir, how I likes the machines and studies 'em at odd times. The flyin' was over and there wasn't anybody around the sheds but Lawrence and me. I was lookup at his machine, and, no doubt, botherin' him, an he says sharp-like:
"'You can't understand these machines. It takes an educated man like me to understand 'em. They're more complicated than buggies.' That made me mad, sir, and I says, 'That's no way to speak to your Sergeant.' 'You go to the devil,' says Lawrence. 'You'll get ten days in the guard house for that,' I says. Then Lawrence seemed to grow crazy, all at once. 'Yes,' he shouts, like a lunatic, 'that's a fit punishment for a gentleman. You'll see to it, Sergeant, that I get ten days in the guard house, and my wife breakin' her heart with shame, and the other children tauntin' my boy!' With that, sir, he hit me on the side of the head with his fist. I was so unprepared that it knocked me down, but I saw Lawrence runnin' toward the station. I picked myself up and went and sat down on the bench outside the sheds to think what I ought to do. I knew, as well as I know now, that Lawrence was runnin' away, and I had drove him to it. But I swear, sir, before my Colonel and my God, that I didn't mean to make Lawrence mad, or misuse him in any way. You know my record, sir."