The Burning Spear | Page 5

us to stop,

I shall follow his example, you may depend on that. The country comes
before everything. "Mrs. Petty tossed her head and murmured darkly
"Do you suppose he's got an example, Sir?"
"Mrs. Petty," replied Mr. Lavender, "that is quite unworthy of you. But,
tell me, what can we do without?"
"I could do without Joe," responded Mrs. Petty, "now that you're not
using him as chauffeur."
"Please be serious. Joe is an institution; besides, I am thinking of
offering myself to the Government as a speaker now that we may use
gas."
Ah!" said Mrs. Petty.
"I am going down about it to-morrow."
"Indeed, sir!"
"I feel my energies are not fully employed."
"No, sir?"
"By the way, there was a wonderful leader on potatoes yesterday. We
must dig up the garden. Do you know what the subsoil is?"
"Brickbats and dead cats, I expect, sir."
"Ah! We shall soon improve that. Every inch of land reclaimed is a nail
in the coffin of our common enemies."
And going over to a bookcase, Mr. Lavender took out the third from
the top of a pile of newspapers. "Listen!" he said. "'The problem before
us is the extraction of every potential ounce of food. No half measures
must content us. Potatoes! Potatoes! No matter how, where, when the
prime national necessity is now the growth of potatoes. All Britons
should join in raising a plant which may be our very salvation.
"Fudge!" murmured Mrs. Petty.
Mr. Lavender read on, and his eyes glowed.
"Ah!" he thought, "I, too, can do my bit to save England.... It needs but
the spark to burn away the dross of this terrible horse-sense which
keeps the country back.
"Mrs. Petty!" But Mrs. Petty was already not.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The grass never grew under the feet of Mr. Lavender, No sooner had he
formed his sudden resolve than he wrote to what he conceived to be the
proper quarter, and receiving no reply, went down to the centre of the
official world. It was at time of change and no small national

excitement; brooms were sweeping clean, and new offices had arisen
everywhere. Mr. Lavender passed bewildered among large stone
buildings and small wooden buildings, not knowing where to go. He
had bought no clothes since the beginning of the war, except the
various Volunteer uniforms which the exigencies of a shifting situation
had forced the authorities to withdraw from time to time; and his, small
shrunken figure struck somewhat vividly on the eye, with elbows and
knees shining in the summer sunlight. Stopping at last before the only
object which seemed unchanged, he said:
"Can you tell me where the Ministry is?"
The officer looked down at him.
"What for?"
"For speaking about the country."
"Ministry of Propagation? First on the right, second door on the left."
"Thank you. The Police are wonderful."
"None of that," said the officer coldly.
"I only said you were wonderful."
"I 'eard you."
"But you are. I don't know what the country would do without you.
Your solid qualities, your imperturbable bonhomie, your truly British
tenderness towards----"
"Pass away!" said the officer.
"I am only repeating what we all say of you," rejoined Mr. Lavender
reproachfully.
"Did you 'ear me say 'Move on,'" said the officer; "or must I make you
an example?"
"YOU are the example," said Mr. Lavender warmly.
"Any more names," returned the officer, "and I take you to the station."
And he moved out into the traffic. Puzzled by his unfriendliness Mr.
Lavender resumed his search, and, arriving at the door indicated, went
in. A dark, dusty, deserted corridor led him nowhere, till he came on a
little girl in a brown frock, with her hair down her back.
"Can you tell me, little one----" he said, laying his hand on her head.
"Chuck it!" said the little girl.
"No, no!" responded Mr. Lavender, deeply hurt. "Can you tell me
where I can find the Minister?"
"'Ave you an appointment?

"No; but I wrote to him. He should expect me."
"Wot nyme?"
"John Lavender. Here is my card."
"I'll tyke it in. Wyte 'ere!"
"Wonderful!" mused Mr. Lavender; "the patriotic impulse already
stirring in these little hearts! What was the stanza of that patriotic poet?
"'Lives not a babe who shall not feel the pulse Of Britain's need beat
wild in Britain's wrist. And, sacrificial, in the world's convulse Put up
its lips to be by Britain kissed.'
"So young to bring their lives to the service of the country!"
"Come on," said the little girl, reappearing suddenly; "e'll see you."
Mr. Lavender entered a room which had a considerable resemblance