Rodens Corner | Page 5

or may not be
justified by subsequent events.
This was, as Tony Cornish, his companion, had hinted, the White of the
moment. Just as the reader may be the Jones or the Tomkins of the
moment if his soul thirst for glory. Crime and novel-writing are the two
broad roads to notoriety, but Major White had practiced neither felony
nor fiction. He had merely attended to his own and his country's
business in a solid, common-sense way in one of those obscure and
tight places into which the British officer frequently finds himself
forced by the unwieldiness of the empire or the indiscretion of an
effervescent press.
That he had extricated himself and his command from the tight place,
with much glory to themselves and an increased burden to the cares of
the Colonial Office, was a fact which a grateful country was at this
moment doing its best to recognize. That the authorities and those who
knew him could not explain how he had done it any more than he
himself could, was another fact which troubled him as little. Major
White was wise in that he did not attempt to explain.
"That sort of thing," he said, "generally comes right in the end." And
the affair may thus be consigned to that pigeon-hole of the past in
which are filed for future reference cases where brilliant men have
failed and unlikely ones have covered themselves with sudden and
transient glory.
There had been a review of the troops that had taken part in a short and
satisfactory expedition of which, by what is usually called a lucky
chance, White found himself the hero. He was not of the material of
which heroes are made; but that did not matter. The world will take a
man and make a hero of him without pausing to inquire of what stuff he

may be. Nay, more, it will take a man's name and glorify it without so
much as inquiring to what manner of person the name belongs.
Tony Cornish, who went everywhere and saw everything, was of
course present at the review, and knew all the best people there. He
passed from carriage to carriage in his smart way, saying the right thing
to the right people in the right words, failing to see the wrong people
quite in the best manner, and conscious of the fact that none could
surpass him. Then suddenly, roused to a higher manhood by the tramp
of steady feet, by the sight of his lifelong friend White riding at the
head of his tanned warriors, this social success forgot himself. He
waved his silk hat and shouted himself hoarse, as did the honest
plumber at his side.
"That's better work than yours nor mine, mister," said the plumber,
when the troops were gone; and Tony admitted, with his ready smile,
that it was so. A few minutes later Tony found Major White solemnly
staring at a small crowd, which as solemnly stared back at him, on the
pavement in front of the Horse Guards.
"Here, I have a cab waiting for me," he had said; and White followed
him with a mildly bewildered patience, pushing his way gently through
the crowd as through a herd of oxen.
He made no comment, and if he heard sundry whispers of "That's 'im,"
he was not unduly elated. In the cab he sat bolt upright, looking as if
his tunic was too tight, as in all probability it was. The day was hot, and
after a few jerks he extracted a pocket-handkerchief from his sleeve.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Well, I was going to Cambridge Terrace. Joan sent me a card this
morning saying that she wanted to see me," explained Tony Cornish.
He was a young man who seemed always busy. His long thin legs
moved quickly, he spoke quickly, and had a rapid glance. There was a
suggestion of superficial haste about him. For an idle man, he had
remarkably little time on his hands.

White took up his eye-glass, examined it with short-sighted earnestness,
and screwed it solemnly into his eye.
"Cambridge Terrace?" he said, and stared in front of him.
"Yes. Have you seen the Ferribys since your glorious return to
these--er--shores?" As he spoke, Cornish gave only half of his attention.
He knew so many people that Piccadilly was a work of considerable
effort, and it is difficult to bow gracefully from a hansom cab.
"Can't say I have."
"Then come in and see them now. We shall find only Joan at home, and
she will not mind your fine feathers or the dust and circumstance of war
upon your boots. Lady Ferriby will be sneaking about in the direction
of Edgware Road--fish is nearly two pence a pound cheaper there, I