The Wages of Virtue

by Percival Christopher Wren

The human animal seemed to him to have become as adventurous, gallant, picturesque and gay as the mole, the toad, and the slug. An old tomcat on a backyard fence seemed to him to be a more independent, care-free, self-respecting and gentlemanly person than his owner, a man who, all God's wide world before him, was, for a few monthly metal discs, content to sit in a stuffy hole and copy hieroglyphics from nine till six--that another man might the quicker amass many dirty metal discs and a double chin. To Reginald, the men of even his own class seemed travesties and parodies of a noble original, in that they were content to lead the dreadful lives they did--killing tame birds, knocking little balls about the place, watching other people ride races, rushing around in motors, sailing sunny seas in luxury and safety, seeing foreign lands only from their best hotels, poodle-faking and philandering, doing everything but anything--pampered, soft, useless; each a most exact and careful copy of his neighbour. Reginald loved, and excelled at, every form of sport, and had been prominent in the playing-fields at Winchester, Sandhurst and Oxford, but he could not live by sport alone, and to him it had always been a means and not an end, a means to health, strength, skill and hardihood--the which were to be applied--not to more games--but to the fuller living of life. The seeds of his father's teaching had fallen on most receptive and fertile soil, and their fruit ripened not the slower by reason of the fact that his father was his friend, confidant, hero and model.... He could see him now as he straddled mightily on the rug before the library fire, in his pink and cords, his spurred tops splashed with mud, and grey on the inner sides with the sweat of his horse....

"Brown-paper prisons for poor men, and pink-silk cages for rich--that's Life nowadays, my boy, unless you're careful.... Get hold of Life, don't let Life get hold of you. Take the family motto for your guidance in actual fact. 'Be all, see all.' Try to carry it out as far as humanly possible. Live Life and live it in the World. Don't live a thousandth part of Life in a millionth part of the World, as all our neighbours do. When you succeed me here and marry and settle down, be able to say you've seen everything, done everything, been everything.... Be a gentleman, of course, but one can be a man as well as being a gentleman--gentility is of the heart and conduct and manners--not of position and wealth and rank. What's the good of seeing one little glimpse of life out of one little window--whether it's a soldier's window (which is the best of windows), or a sailor's, or a lawyer's, parson's, merchant's, scholar's, sportsman's, landowner's, politician's, or any other.... And go upwards and downwards too, my boy. Tramps, ostlers, costermongers and soldiers are a dam' sight more interestin' than kings--and a heap more human. A chap who's only moved in one plane of society isn't educated--not worth listening to..." and much more to the same effect--and Rupert smiled to himself as he thought of how his father had advised him not to "waste" more than a year at Sandhurst, another at Oxford, and another in an Officers' Mess, before setting forth to see real life, and real men living it hard and to the full, in the capitals and the corners of the earth.

"How the dear old boy must have worshipped mother--to have married and settled down, at forty," he reflected, "and what a beauty she must have been. She's lovely now," and again his rather hard face softened into a smile as he thought of the interview in which he told her of his intention to "chuck" his commission and go and do things and see things. Little had he known that she had fully anticipated and daily expected the declaration which he feared would be a "terrible blow" to her.... Did she expect him to be anything else than the son of his father and his eccentric and adventurous House?

"I wouldn't have you be anything but a chip of the old block, my darling boy. You're of age and your old mother isn't going to be a millstone round your neck, like she's been round your father's. Only one woman can have the right to be that, and you will give her the right when you marry her.... Your family really ought not to marry."

"Mother, Mother!" he had protested, "and 'bring up our children to do the same,' I suppose?"

She had been bravely gay when he went, albeit a little damp of eye and red of nose.... Really he was a lucky chap to have such a mother. She was one in a thousand and he must faithfully do his utmost to keep his promise and go home once a year or thereabouts--also "to take care of his nails, not crop his hair, change damp socks, and wear wool next his skin...." Want a bit of doin' in the Legion, what! Good job the poor darling couldn't see Luigi Rivoli breaking up recruits, or Sergeant Legros superintending the ablutions of her Reginald. What would she think of this galley and his fellow galley-slaves--of 'Erb, the Apache, Carmelita, the Grasshopper, and the drunkards of the Canteen? The Bucking Bronco would amuse her, and she'd certainly be interested in John Bull, poor old chap.... What could his story be, and why was he here? Was there a woman in it? ... Probably. He didn't look the sort of chap who'd "done something." Poor devil! ... Yes, her big warm heart would certainly have a corner for John Bull. Had she not been well brought up by her husband and son in the matter of seeing a swan in every goose they brought home? Yes, he'd repay John Bull's kindness to the full when he left the Legion. He should come straight to Elham Old Hall and his mother should have the chance, which she would love, of thanking and, in some measure, repaying the good chap. He wouldn't tell him exactly who they were and what they were, lest he should pretend that fifteen years of Legion life had spoilt him for la vie de château, and refuse to visit them.... He'd like to know his story. What could be the cause of a man like him leading this ha'penny-a-day life for fourteen years? Talk of paper prisons and silken cages--this was a prison of red-hot stone. Fancy this the setting for the best years of your life, and he sat up and looked round the moonlit room.

Next to him lay the Bucking Bronco, snoring heavily, his moustache looking huge and black in the moonlight that made his face appear pale and fine.... A strong and not unkindly face, with its great jutting chin and square heavy jaw.

'Erb lay on the neighbouring cot, his hands clasped above his head as he slept the sleep of the just and innocent, for whom a night of peaceful slumber is the meet reward of a well-spent day. His pinched and cunning little face was transfigured by the moonlight, and the sleeping Herbert Higgins looked less the vulgar, street-bred guttersnipe than did the waking "'Erbiggins" of the day.

Beyond him lay the mighty bulk of Luigi Rivoli, breathing stertorously in drunken slumber as he sprawled, limb-scattered, on his face, fully dressed, save for his boots....

What an utter swine and cad--reflected Reginald--and what would happen when he selected him for his attentions? Of course, the Neapolitan had ten times his strength and twice his weight--but there would have to be a fight--or a moral victory for the recruit. He would obey no behests of Luigi Rivoli, nor accept any insults nor injuries tamely. He would land the cad one of the best, and take the consequences, however humiliating or painful. And he'd do it every time too, until he were finally incapacitated, or Luigi Rivoli weary of the game. Evidently the brute had some sort of respect for the big American and for John Bull. He should learn to have some for "Reginald Rupert," too, or the latter would die in the attempt to teach it. The prospect was not alluring though, and the Austrian and the Apache had received sharp and painful lessons on the folly of defying or attacking Luigi Rivoli. Still--experiences, dangers, difficulties and real, raw, primitive life were what his family sought--and here were some of them. Yes, he was ready for Il Signor Luigi Rivoli....