“But he doesn’t write with his legs, and the work he does is all writing.”
“How did he get the appointment?”
“His father got it for him. And, by the way, he had no legs at all, poor fellow; he lost one in the Crimea and the other in China. And he used to joke about it, and say that the loss of his legs was the best investment he ever made, and the only one that paid regularly.”
“That’s just it: if a man loses both he is a hero; if he loses only one he is a cripple. Balaklava never did anything for me but worry my life out.”
“That is a most excellent idea!” said Mrs. Redacre, turning with a look of sunny hopefulness to Mrs. Monteagle. “I don’t see why Hugh should not get something at the Horse Guards. We know so many old generals, and some of them are influential, and I am sure all our friends will be kind and anxious to help us. Hugh, dear, we must lose no time in seeing about this.”
“First of all, we have got to pay this £30,000. When that is done, it will be time to think of the other. But with the government we have now I don’t expect we would succeed. They are a beggarly lot, who toady all the self-made men, as they call them—fellows who have risen Heaven knows from what, and to whom it is as well to throw a bone to stop their mouths. I would see them farther before I asked a favor of them if I had my two legs to stand on.”
“Where are the girls?” said Mrs. Monteagle; she was losing patience with these lamentations over the missing leg.
“I sent them out for a ride before breakfast; they may as well enjoy it while they can, poor darlings!” And the mother’s voice faltered a little.
“Have you told them?”
“Not the whole terrible truth. I prepared them for it yesterday a little, and again this morning. But they guess that worse is coming, and they are very brave.”