“War!”

Section 2

I awoke in that state of equanimity that so often follows an emotional drenching.

It was late, and my mother was beside my bed.  She had some breakfast for me on a battered tray.

“Don’t get up yet, dear,” she said.  “You’ve been sleeping.  It was three o’clock when you got home last night.  You must have been tired out.”

“Your poor face,” she went on, “was as white as a sheet and your eyes shining. . . .  It frightened me to let you in.  And you stumbled on the stairs.”

My eyes went quietly to my coat pocket, where something still bulged.  She probably had not noticed.  “I went to Checkshill,” I said.  “You know—­perhaps—?”

“I got a letter last evening, dear,” and as she bent near me to put the tray upon my knees, she kissed my hair softly.  For a moment we both remained still, resting on that, her cheek just touching my head.

I took the tray from her to end the pause.

“Don’t touch my clothes, mummy,” I said sharply, as she moved towards them.  “I’m still equal to a clothes-brush.”

And then, as she turned away, I astonished her by saying, “You dear mother, you!  A little—­I understand.  Only—­now—­dear mother; oh! let me be!  Let me be!”

And, with the docility of a good servant, she went from me.  Dear heart of submission that the world and I had used so ill!

It seemed to me that morning that I could never give way to a gust of passion again.  A sorrowful firmness of the mind possessed me.  My purpose seemed now as inflexible as iron; there was neither love nor hate nor fear left in me—­only I pitied my mother greatly for all that was still to come.  I ate my breakfast slowly, and thought where I could find out about Shaphambury, and how I might hope to get there.  I had not five shillings in the world.

I dressed methodically, choosing the least frayed of my collars, and shaving much more carefully than was my wont; then I went down to the Public Library to consult a map.

Shaphambury was on the coast of Essex, a long and complicated journey from Clayton.  I went to the railway-station and made some memoranda from the time-tables.  The porters I asked were not very clear about Shaphambury, but the booking-office clerk was helpful, and we puzzled out all I wanted to know.  Then I came out into the coaly street again.  At the least I ought to have two pounds.

I went back to the Public Library and into the newspaper room to think over this problem.

A fact intruded itself upon me.  People seemed in an altogether exceptional stir about the morning journals, there was something unusual in the air of the room, more people and more talking than usual, and for a moment I was puzzled.  Then I bethought me:  “This war with Germany, of course!” A naval battle was supposed to be in progress in the North Sea.  Let them!  I returned to the consideration of my own affairs.