“By the way,” said Doggie, “you haven’t told me why you became a soldier.”
“A series of vicissitudes dating from the hour I left your house,” said Phineas, “vicissitudes the recital of which would wring your heart, laddie, and make angels weep if their lachrymal glands were not too busily engaged by the horrors of war, culminated four months ago in an attack of fervid and penniless patriotism. No one seemed to want me except my country. She clamoured for me on every hoarding and every omnibus. A recruiting-sergeant in Trafalgar Square tapped me on the arm, and said: ‘Young man, your country wants you.’ Said I with my Scottish caution, ‘Can you take your affidavit that you got the information straight from the War Office?’ ‘I can,’ said he. Then I threw myself on his bosom and bade him take me to her. That’s how I became 33702 Private Phineas McPhail, A Company, 10th Wessex Rangers, at the remuneration of one shilling and twopence per diem.”
“Do you like it?” asked Doggie.
Phineas rubbed the side of his thick nose thoughtfully.
“There you come to the metaphysical conception of human happiness,” he replied. “In itself it is a vile life. To a man of thirty-five——”
“Good lord!” cried Doggie, “I always thought you were about fifty!”
“Your mother caught me young, laddie. To a man of thirty-five, a graduate of ancient and honourable universities and a whilom candidate for holy orders, it is a life that would seem to have no attraction whatever. The hours are absurd, the work distasteful, and the mode of living repulsive. But strange to say, it fully contents me. The secret of happiness lies in the supple adaptability to conditions. When I found that it was necessary to perform ridiculous antics with my legs and arms, I entered into the comicality of the idea and performed them with an indulgent zest which soon won me the precious encomiums of my superiors in rank. When I found that the language of the canteen was not that of the pulpit or the drawing-room, I quickly acquired the new vocabulary and won the pleasant esteem of my equals. By means of this faculty of adaptability I can suck enjoyment out of everything. But, at the same time, mind you, keeping in reserve a little secret fount of pleasure.”
“What do you call a little secret fount of pleasure?” asked Doggie.
“I’ll give you an illustration—and, if you’re the man I consider you to be, you’ll take a humorous view of my frankness. At present I adapt myself to a rough atmosphere of coarseness and lustiness, in which nothing coarse or lusty I could do would produce the slightest ripple of a convulsion: but I have my store of a cultivated mind and cheap editions of the classics, my little secret fount of Castaly to drink from whenever I so please. On the other hand, when I had the honour of being responsible for your education, I adapted myself to a hot-house atmosphere in which Respectability and the concomitant virtues of Supineness and Sloth were cultivated like rare orchids; but in my bedroom I kept a secret fount which had its source in some good Scots distillery.”
Whereupon he attacked his plateful of chicken with vehement gusto.