“I’m twenty—”
“You’re a hog,” the old man meditated. His eyes twinkled. He sneered, “Well, wipe your eyes. Here’s a handkerchief if you ain’t got one.” He relished the boy’s blush, watched him blink and went on, “Now, don’t tell Mark about all the women you ruined, neither. He prob’ly thinks you been a saint. And don’t go spillin’ any of this talk about goin’ to work on your own like some of these whelps do. Mark’s got a three thousand dollar car comin’ for you and he’s goin’ to pay you a hundred a week to set in the office and look wise. And don’t tell him you didn’t win the war, too. He knows you did. Christ, it was bad enough when I’d got to listen to how Margot was runnin’ the Red Cross in London! After you went off I come pretty near callin’ up the express company and havin’ myself shipped to Stockholm! The big calf! Chewin’ the paint off the walls every time he heard there’d been fightin’! Sentymental lunatic! Your papa and mamma’ve got three times more sense about you. Get out of here. I got to make up sleep.” He shut his eyes. Two tears ran and were lost in the sharp wrinkles of his face. Gurdy gulped and walked downstairs, abashed by the sheer weight of idolatry.
Mark was twisting the cork out of a champagne bottle in the dining room. At once he said, “They’ll have some eggs up right away, sonny.”
“My God but you’re thin, Mark!”
“No exercise. Haven’t had time to play golf. Now, we’d better get the car and run down to Fayettes—”
“I talked to mother from Camp Merritt. Be in Camp Dix tomorrow. I’ll see them there. They can motor over. Only twelve miles. Heard from Margot lately?”
His uncle beamed saying, “Says she wants to come home, son. I’ve got to talk to you about that. What d’you think?”
Gurdy said quickly, “Let her come, Mark. The fact is, I think she’s bored. You haven’t seen her since last year? She’s got a gang of men trailing after her and she isn’t a flirt. Chelsea’s full of bright young painters and things. They all come and camp on the doormat. Lady Ilden’s a sort of fairy godmother, of course.” He lapsed into a sudden state of mind about Margot, fondling his glass of champagne. Untrimmed discourse on women had amused his first days in the army. But the week’s return in the jammed transport had sickened him with the stuffy talk of prospective and retrospective desire. It had been musky, stifling. He wondered how women, if they guessed, would value that broad commentary. And how men lied about women! The precisian was annoyed to a snort and Mark filled his glass again, smiling.
Of course, having seen her, the boy wanted Margot home. Mark said, “She wrote me you’d turned out better looking than she thought. Knew she’d think so. And Olive was pleased to death with you, of course. How’s your side feel?—My God, what are those fools doing to the eggs!”
He rushed into the pantry. Rank pleasure swelled in Gurdy. There was no use doing anything with the incurable, proud man who drove him back to Camp Merritt at dusk with two bottles of champagne hidden in his motor coat, invited confessions and beamed constantly.