Four Days | Page 4

he added, smiling and closing his eyes,
"coming away across the ocean full of dirty little submarines to a
bridegroom smelling like a poor man! Jove! I want a bath!"
"Just as I was about to take the liberty of remarking myself," old
Nannie said. She was standing in the doorway, her arms akimbo and
her sleeves rolled up. "Captain Leeds, it's all ready."
Leonard's arms were still about Marjorie. "Captain Leeds, otherwise
known as Lieutenant Leeds," he said, "once known as Leonard,

presents his compliments to Mrs. Bridget O'Garrity, née Flannagan, and
wishes her to request Mr. Jakes, in the culinary regions, to draw his
bath and lay out his things and generally make himself a nuisance. He
will not permit Mrs. O'Garrity to dress him."
"Oh, now, Captain Leeds--well then, Leonard dearie, you bad boy,"
wailed the old woman reproachfully. "Mr. Jakes has gone to the war, as
has likewise all the men in the house, and a good riddance it is, too.
There was a time when you weren't too grand to let your poor old
Nannie wait on you. Why, Miss Marjorie, I remember the time when he
couldn't--"
"No reminiscences!" broke in Leonard, eyeing Nannie suspiciously.
"You have had so much experience with men you ought to know how
they hate it. Why, Marjorie, do you realize that Nannie has had five
husbands?"
"Oh, Master Leonard, indade, it is only three!" cried Nannie, horrified.
"Seven," Leonard insisted; "it's a compliment. It only shows how
fascinating you are with the polygamous sex. It was seven, only two
never showed up after the wedding. I was to be the eighth, Marjie, only
you came in between us."
"Master Leonard, I could smack you for talking like that! Don't listen to
'im, Miss Marjorie."
"Cheer up, old Nannie," continued Leonard; "there's still Kitchener.
He's a bachelor and a woman-hater, but then, he's never met you, and
he's even a greater hero than I am."
Nannie, aghast but delighted, advanced toward Leonard, shaking her
gray curls. "H'm, h'm. Woman-haters, you say. I never met one,
indade." Then, very coaxingly, "Didn't you bring your old Nannie a
souvenir from the war?"
"Rather," said Leonard, indicating with his chin the rent on his shoulder.
"How about this?"

"How about that?" said Nannie, her old eyes in their deep furrows
gleaming with malice.
From behind her broad back she drew forth a round metal object that
flashed in the firelight.
"It's a German helmet!" cried Marjorie.
"I want it!" shouted Herbert, stretching up his arms for the flashing
plaything.
"It's mine," coaxed Marjorie, trying to wrest it from Nannie.
Leonard put out a swift hand, and held it aloft by the spike.
"Let me try it on," wheedled Marjorie, coaxing down his arm.
"You look like a baby Valkyrie," said Leonard, placing the helmet on
her head; but he frowned.
Marjorie regarded herself in the mirror.
"This belonged to an officer of the Prussian guard," she said.
"It did. How did you know?"
Marjorie continued to stare at herself in the mirror as if she saw
something there behind her own reflection. "The very first man who
was ever in love with me wore a helmet like this," she said, suddenly,
lifting enigmatic and mischievous eyes to Leonard.
"How many have there been since?" Leonard smiled, lazily.
"I can remember only the first and the last," said Marjorie.
Leonard laughed, but he could not see Marjorie's face. She was
standing looking down at the gold eagle-crest, holding the helmet in
both hands, carefully, timidly, as if it were a loaded weapon that might
go off.

"Where did you get it, Len?" she asked, gravely.
"There's a crop of them coming up in France this summer," said
Leonard.
"But seriously, Len?"
"Seriously, Marjorie." He took the helmet by the spike and put it on the
mantel. "Lord knows, I'm not presenting that as a token of valor to any
one. It belonged to a poor chap who died on the field the night I was
wounded. My orderly packed it in my kit."
Marjorie drew a deep breath. "Oh, Len," she whispered, staring at the
helmet. "How does it feel to kill a man?"
Leonard, smiling, shifted his position and answered, "No different from
killing your first rabbit, if you don't sit down on the bank and watch it
kick, and write poetry. Besides, you always have the pleasure of
thinking it's a German rabbit."
"Oh, Len!"
"You're just one in a great big machine called England. It isn't your job
to think," Leonard said. "For God's sake, lamb, don't cherish any fool
Yankee pacifist notions. We are going to beat the Germans till every
man Fritz of them is either dead or can't crawl off the field." His black
fingers closed over Marjorie's. "Remember, after