The Soldier's Story, being a Bit of Orange Peel by H.C. McNeile

"YOU can set your minds at rest about one thing, you fellows," began the / Soldier, with a grin. "My yarn isn't about the war. There have been / quite enough lies told already about that performance without my adding / to the number. No; my story concerns peace soldiering, and, strangely / enough, I had an ocular demonstration when dining at the Ritz two nights / ago that everything had finished up quite satisfactorily, in the / approved story-book manner. At least, when I say quite / satisfactorily-there was a price, and it was paid by one of the / principal actors. But that is the unchangeable rule: one can but shrug / one's shoulders and pay accordingly.

"The regiment-I was a squadron-leader at the time-was quartered at / Murchester. Not a bad station at all: good shooting, very fair hunting, / especially if you didn't scorn the carted stag, polo, and most excellent / cricket. Also some delightful houses in the neighbourhood; and as we'd / just come home from our foreign tour we found the place greatly to our / liking. London was an hour and a bit by train; in fact, there are many / worse stations in England than the spot I have labelled Murchester.

"The only fly in the ointment when we first arrived was a fairly natural / one, and a thing which only time could cure. The men were a bit restive. / We'd been abroad, don't forget, for more than ten years-India, Egypt, / South Africa-and the feel of the old country under their feet unsettled / 'em temporarily. Nothing very bad, but an epidemic of absence without / leave and desertion broke out, and the officers had to settle down to / pull things together. Continual courts-martial for desertion don't do a / regiment any good with the powers that be, and we had to stop it.

"Of course, one of the first things to look to, when any trouble of that / sort is occurring, is the general type and standard of your N. C. O. 's. In / my squadron they were good, though just a little on the young side. I / remember one day I discussed the matter pretty thoroughly with the / squadron sergeant-major-an absolute top-notcher.

"‘They're all right, sir,' he said. ‘In another two or three years there / will be none better in the British Army. Especially Trevor.'

"‘Ah! Sergeant-Major,' I said, looking him straight in the face, ‘you / think Trevor is a good man, do you?'

"‘The best we've got, sir,' he answered quietly, and he stared straight / back at me.

"‘You weren't so sure when he first came,' I reminded him.

"‘Well, I reckon there was a bit of jealousy, sir,' he replied, ‘his / coming in from the link regiment over a good many of the chaps' heads. / But he's been with us now three months-and we know him better.'

"‘I wish I could say the same,' I answered. ‘He defeats me, does / Sergeant Trevor.'

"The Sergeant-Major smiled quietly. ‘Does he, sir? I shouldn't have / thought he would have. That there bloke Kipling has written about the / likes of Trevor.'

"‘Kipling has written a good deal about the Army,' I said, with an / answering smile. ‘Mulvaney and Co. are classics.'

"‘It's not Mulvaney I'm meaning, sir,' he answered. ‘But didn't he write / a little bit of poetry about "Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree"?'

"‘Why, yes, he did. ' I lit a cigarette thoughtfully. ‘I'd guessed that / much, Manfield. Is Trevor his real name?'

"‘I don't know, sir,' and at that moment the subject of our discussion / walked past and saluted.

"‘Sergeant Trevor,' I called after him, on the spur of the moment, and / he came up at the double. I hadn't anything really to say to him, but / ever since he'd joined us he'd puzzled me, and though, as the / sergeant-major said, the other non-commissioned officers might know him / better, I certainly didn't.

"‘You're a bit of a cricketer, aren't you? ' I said, as he came up.

"A faint smile flickered across his face at my question. ‘I used to play / quite a lot, sir,' he answered.

"‘Good; we want to get games going really strong. ' I talked with them / both-squadron ‘shop'-a bit longer, and all the time I was trying to / probe behind the impassive mask of Trevor's face. Incidentally, I think / he knew it; once or twice I caught a faint gleam of amusement in his / eyes-a gleam that seemed to me a little weary. And when I left them and / went across the parade ground towards the mess, his face haunted me. I / hadn't probed-not the eighth of an inch; he was still as much a mystery / as ever. But he'd got a pair of deep blue eyes, and though I wasn't a / girl to be attracted by a man's eyes, I couldn't get his out of my mind. / They baffled me; the man himself baffled me-and I've always disliked / being baffled.

"It was a few nights after, in mess, that the next piece in the puzzle / came along. We had in the regiment-he was killed in the war, poor / devil! -a fellow of the name of Blenton, a fairly senior captain. He / wasn't in my squadron, and his chief claim to notoriety was as a / cricketer. Had he been able to play regularly he would have been easily / up to first-class form-as it was he periodically turned out for the / county; but he used to go in first wicket down for the Army. So you can / gather his sort of form.