The Little Warrior | Page 7

the engines . . ."
"It's not the engines," contended Ronny Devereux.
"Stands to reason it can't be. I rather like the smell of engines. This
station is reeking with the smell of engine-grease, and I can drink it in
and enjoy it." He sniffed luxuriantly. "It's something else."
"Ronny's right," said Algy cordially. "It isn't the engines. It's the way
the boat heaves up and down and up and down and up and down . . ."
He shifted his cigar to his left hand in order to give with his right a
spirited illustration of a Channel steamer going up and down and up
and down and up and down. Lady Underhill, who had opened her eyes,
had an excellent view of the performance, and closed her eyes again
quickly.
"Be quiet!" she snapped.
"I was only saying . . ."

"Be quiet!"
"Oh, rather!"
Lady Underhill wrestled with herself. She was a woman of great
will-power and accustomed to triumph over the weaknesses of the flesh.
After awhile her eyes opened. She had forced herself, against the
evidence of her senses, to recognize that this was a platform on which
she stood and not a deck.
There was a pause. Algy, damped, was temporarily out of action, and
his friends had for the moment nothing to remark.
"I'm afraid you had a trying journey, mother," said Derek. "The train
was very late."
"Now, train-sickness," said Algy, coming to the surface again, "is a
thing lots of people suffer from. Never could understand it myself."
"I've never had a touch of train-sickness," said Ronny.
"Oh, I have," said Freddie. "I've often felt rotten on a train. I get
floating spots in front of my eyes and a sort of heaving sensation, and
everything kind of goes black . . ."
"Mr Rooke!"
"Eh?"
"I should be greatly obliged if you would keep these confidences for
the ear of your medical adviser."
"Freddie," intervened Derek hastily, "my mother's rather tired. Do you
think you could be going ahead and getting a taxi?"
"My dear old chap, of course! Get you one in a second. Come along,
Algy. Pick up the old waukeesis, Ronny."
And Freddie, accompanied by his henchmen, ambled off, well pleased

with himself. He had, he felt, helped to break the ice for Derek and had
seen him safely through those awkward opening stages. Now he could
totter off with a light heart and get a bite of lunch.
Lady Underhill's eyes glittered. They were small, keen, black eyes,
unlike Derek's, which were large and brown. In their other features the
two were obviously mother and son. Each had the same long upper lip,
the same thin, firm mouth, the prominent chin which was a family
characteristic of the Underhills, and the jutting Underhill nose. Most of
the Underhills came into the world looking as though they meant to
drive their way through life like a wedge.
"A little more," she said tensely, "and I should have struck those
unspeakable young men with my umbrella. One of the things I have
never been able to understand, Derek, is why you should have selected
that imbecile Rooke as your closest friend."
Derek smiled tolerantly.
"It was more a case of him selecting me. But Freddie is quite a good
fellow really. He's a man you've got to know."
"I have not got to know him, and I thank heaven for it!"
"He's a very good-natured fellow. It was decent of him to put me up at
the Albany while our house was let. By the way, he has some seats for
the first night of a new piece this evening. He suggested that we might
all dine at the Albany and go on to the theatre." He hesitated a moment.
"Jill will be there," he said, and felt easier now that her name had at last
come into the talk. "She's longing to meet you."
"Then why didn't she meet me?"
"Here, do you mean? At the station? Well, I--I wanted you to see her
for the first time in pleasanter surroundings."
"Oh!" said Lady Underhill shortly.

It is a disturbing thought that we suffer in this world just as much by
being prudent and taking precautions as we do by being rash and
impulsive and acting as the spirit moves us. If Jill had been permitted
by her wary fiancé to come with him to the station to meet his mother,
it is certain that much trouble would have been avoided. True, Lady
Underhill would probably have been rude to her in the opening stages
of the interview, but she would not have been alarmed and suspicious;
or, rather, the vague suspicion which she had been feeling would not
have solidified, as, it did now, into definite certainty of the