O. Henry Memorial Award Prize Stories of 1919 | Page 9

but after all,
that was not easy. In English novels, he remembered, they always had a
wire calling them to London; but, darn it all! the Sherwoods knew
mighty well there wasn't any one in London who cared a hoot about
him.
The thing that got his goat most, he told himself, was that they
apparently didn't like his friendship with Chev. Anyway they didn't
seem to want him to talk about him; and whenever he tried to express
his warm appreciation for all that the older man had done for him, he
was instantly aware of a wall of reserve on their part, a holding of
themselves aloof from him. That puzzled and hurt him, and put him on
his dignity. He concluded that they thought it was cheeky of a

youngster like him to think that a man like Chev could be his friend;
and if that was the way they felt, he reckoned he'd jolly well better shut
up about it.
But whatever it was that they didn't like about him, they most certainly
did want him to have a good time. He and his pleasure appeared to be
for the time being their chief consideration. And after the first day or so
he began indeed to enjoy himself extremely. For one thing, he came to
love the atmosphere of the old place and of the surrounding country,
which he and Gerald explored together. He liked to think that ancestors
of his own had been inheritors of these green lanes, and pleasant
mellow stretches. Then, too, after the first few days, he could not help
seeing that they really began to like him, which of course was
reassuring, and tapped his own warm friendliness, which was always
ready enough to be released. And besides, he got by accident what he
took to be a hint as to the trouble. He was passing the half-open door of
Lady Sherwood's morning-room, when he heard Sir Charles's voice
break out, "Good God, Elizabeth, I don't see how you stand it! When I
see him so straight and fine-looking, and so untouched, beside our poor
lad, and think--and think--"
Skipworth hurried out of earshot, but now he understood that look of
aversion in the old man's eyes which had so startled him at first. Of
course, the poor old boy might easily hate the sight of him beside
Gerald. With Gerald himself he really got along famously. He was a
most delightful companion, full of anecdotes and history of the
countryside, every foot of which he had apparently explored in the old
days with Chev and the younger brother, Curtin. Yet even with Gerald,
Cary sometimes felt that aloofness and reserve, and that older
protective air that they all showed him. Take, for instance, that
afternoon when they were lolling together on the grass in the park. The
Virginian, running on in his usual eager manner, had plunged without
thinking into an account of a particularly daring bit of flying on Chev's
part, when suddenly he realized that Gerald had rolled over on the grass
and buried his face in his arms, and interrupted himself awkwardly.
"But, of course," he said, "he must have written home about it himself."
"No, or if he did, I didn't hear of it. Go on," Gerald said in a muffled
voice.
A great rush of compassion and remorse overwhelmed the Virginian,

and he burst out penitently, "What a brute I am! I'm always forgetting
and running on about flying, when I know it must hurt like the very
devil!"
The other drew a difficult breath. "Yes," he admitted, "what you say
does hurt in a way--in a way you can't understand. But all the same I
like to hear you. Go on about Chev."
So Skipworth went on and finished his account, winding up, "I don't
believe there's another man in the service who could have pulled it
off--but I tell you your brother's one in a million."
"Good God, don't I know it!" the other burst out. "We were all three the
jolliest pals together," he got out presently in a choked voice, "Chev
and the young un and I; and now--"
He did not finish, but Cary guessed his meaning. Now the young un,
Curtin, was dead, and Gerald himself knocked out. But, heavens! the
Virginian though, did Gerald think Chev would go back on him now on
account of his blindness? Well, you could everlastingly bet he
wouldn't!
"Chev thinks the world and all of you!" he cried in eager defense of his
friend's loyalty. "Lots of times when we're all awfully jolly together, he
makes some excuse and goes off by himself; and Withers told me it
was because he was so frightfully cut up about you. Withers said he
told him once