Jill the Reckless | Page 4

a touch of the petulance which came now
and then when he was annoyed, to suggest that he might not possess so
strong a character as his exterior indicated.
"It's very kind of you," he began stiffly.
Freddie nodded. He was acutely conscious of this himself.
"Some fellows," he observed, "would say 'Not at all!' I suppose. But not
the Last of the Rookes! For, honestly, old man, between ourselves, I
don't mind admitting that this is the bravest deed of the year, and I'm
dashed if I would do it for anyone else."
"It's very good of you, Freddie...."
"That's all right. I'm a Boy Scout, and this is my act of kindness for
to-day."
Derek got up from the table.
"Of course you mustn't come," he said. "We can't form a sort of
debating society to discuss Jill on the platform at Charing Cross."
"Oh, I would just hang around in the offing, shoving in an occasional
tactful word."
"Nonsense!"
"The wheeze would simply be to...."
"It's impossible."

"Oh, very well," said Freddie, damped. "Just as you say, of course. But
there's nothing like a gang, old son, nothing like a gang!"
II
Derek Underhill threw down the stump of his cigar, and grunted
irritably. Inside Charing Cross Station business was proceeding as
usual. Porters wheeling baggage-trucks moved to and fro like
Juggernauts. Belated trains clanked in, glad to get home, while others,
less fortunate, crept reluctantly out through the blackness and
disappeared into an inferno of detonating fog-signals. For outside the
fog still held. The air was cold and raw and tasted coppery. In the street
traffic moved at a funeral pace, to the accompaniment of hoarse cries
and occasional crashes. Once the sun had worked its way through the
murk and had hung in the sky like a great red orange, but now all was
darkness and discomfort again, blended with that odd suggestion of
mystery and romance which is a London fog's only redeeming quality.
The fog and the waiting had had their effect upon Derek. The resolute
front he had exhibited to Freddie at the breakfast-table had melted since
his arrival at the station, and he was feeling nervous at the prospect of
the meeting that lay before him. Calm as he had appeared to the eye of
Freddie and bravely as he had spoken, Derek, in the recesses of his
heart, was afraid of his mother. There are men--and Derek Underhill
was one of them--who never wholly emerge from the nursery. They
may put away childish things and rise in the world to affluence and
success, but the hand that rocked their cradle still rules their lives.
Derek turned to begin one more walk along the platform, and stopped
in mid-stride, raging. Beaming over the collar of a plaid greatcoat, all
helpfulness and devotion, Freddie Rooke was advancing towards him,
the friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Like some loving dog,
who, ordered home sneaks softly on through alleys and by-ways,
peeping round corners and crouching behind lamp-posts, the faithful
Freddie had followed him after all. And with him, to add the last touch
to Derek's discomfiture, were those two inseparable allies of his, Ronny
Devereux and Algy Martyn.

"Well, old thing," said Freddie, patting Derek encouragingly on the
shoulder, "here we are after all! I know you told me not to roll round
and so forth, but I knew you didn't mean it. I thought it over after you
had left, and decided it would be a rotten trick not to cluster about you
in your hour of need. I hope you don't mind Ronny and Algy breezing
along too. The fact is, I was in the deuce of a funk--your jolly old mater
always rather paralyses my nerve-centres, you know--so I roped them
in. Met 'em in Piccadilly, groping about for the club, and conscripted
'em both, they very decently consenting. We all toddled off and had a
pick-me-up at that chemist chappie's at the top of the Hay-market, and
now we're feeling full of beans and buck, ready for anything. I've
explained the whole thing to them, and they're with you to the death!
Collect a gang, dear boy, collect a gang! That's the motto. There's
nothing like it!"
"Nothing!" said Ronny.
"Absolutely nothing!" said Algy.
"We'll just see you through the opening stages," said Freddie, "and then
leg it. We'll keep the conversation general you know."
"Stop it getting into painful channels," said Ronny.
"Steer it clear," said Algy, "of the touchy topic."
"That's the wheeze," said Freddie. "We'll ... Oh, golly! There's the train
coming in now!" His voice quavered, for not even the comforting
presence of his two allies could altogether sustain him in this ordeal.
But he pulled himself together with a manful effort. "Stick it, old