Tommy Part 7

"Come now, Tom," said Penrose, who almost repented of having spoken so sharply, "it is not too late to turn over a new leaf, and you have the makings of a fine fellow in you."

"I'd rather be kicked out of the Army as a straight chap than to be a blooming white-livered hypocrite."

"And do you think I'm a white-livered hypocrite?"

"A sort of plaster saint, anyhow," retorted Tom.

"Anything but that, Tom," replied Penrose; "all the same I've taken a liking to you."

"You have a nice way of showing it," replied Tom.

His anger was all gone now, for he instinctively felt that Penrose meant to be friendly.

"Come with me to the Y.M.C.A. hall to-night," urged Penrose.

"Ay, and be preached to," said Tom, yielding rapidly to the other.

"I promise you there will be no preaching," said Penrose, with a laugh, "unless you like to wait for it. Come now."

"All right, then," said Tom still sulkily, but glad that he had yielded. A few minutes later they entered a large hall where perhaps six or seven hundred soldiers had gathered.

There are few counties in England where music is more cultivated than in Lancas.h.i.+re, and that night Tom listened almost spellbound. Songs that he knew and loved were sung; songs which he had heard Alice Lister sing. Recitations were given in broad Lancas.h.i.+re dialect which gave him keen enjoyment. More than all this there was a feeling of good-fellows.h.i.+p; the Y.M.C.A. workers were evidently on the friendliest of terms with the men, while there was no suggestion of goody-goodyism.

"This is a special occasion, I suppose," said Tom to Penrose.

"Oh no, they have entertainments like this almost every night. All the musical people in the district give their services."

"What for?" asked Tom.

"Just to give us soldiers a good time; but we must be going now."

"Why?" asked Tom, "it's not late."

"But there's a fellow just going to speak, and as you object to being preached to we had better go."

Tom rose almost reluctantly. He was not sure that he didn't want to hear what the man had to say.

"Besides," went on Penrose, "I haven't shown you over the place yet. I want to take you into the rooms which are provided for writing letters, and playing games; there are the French cla.s.ses too, and I should like you to see what they are like."

That night at eleven o'clock, as Tom went back to the house where he had been billeted, he felt that he had indeed made a fool of himself.

The Y.M.C.A. rooms had the feeling of home; none of the people there wanted his money, and he was the better, not the worse, for going.

"Of course," said Tom to himself as he went to bed, "religious lolly-pops are not fit for a grown-up man, but it wur a grand evening; I am sure I could pick up that French, too. Let's see, how did it go?

"_Je suis_ I am.

_Vous etes_ you are.

_Nous sommes_ we are.

_Ils sont_ they are.

"Why, it's easy enough," thought Tom, "I could pick it up, and then when I go over to France I shall be able to speak their lingo."

"Where have you been lately, Tom?" asked Alec McPhail when he met him some time later. "I have been to all the public-houses where we used to meet and have not set my eyes on you."

"Nay," replied Tom, "I have been to the Y.M.C.A."

"Nay, Tom, a man like you, with your power of reasoning an' a', are surely not turning releegious?"

"Nay, I am noan turning religious," replied Tom, "but I tell you, man, the entertainments are fair grand; champion, in fact! I am learning French too."

"I suppose the entertainments are sandwiched between the dry bread of releegion?" replied the Scotchman.

"Nay, I have nowt to do wi' religion," replied Tom. "I have just listened to the singing and the recitations, and then when the chap has got up to talk I've gone into the writing-room or to the French cla.s.s."

"Will you tell me about it?" asked the Scotchman.

Tom gave him a full description.

"You see," he said, "it's not like Sunday School, or anything of that sort. There's lots of folks what can sing, and play the piano very well, and can recite champion. And they give us a good concert every night. Then there's a room where we can go in and read papers, write letters, or play draughts or bagatelle and all that sort of thing.

Then there's a good library where you can get any book for the asking.

Ay, those religious folks have been kind; they have sent hundreds of books for us chaps to read, good books and all. Then there's a cla.s.s-room where you can learn French."

"And will there be a bar where you can get some whisky?" asked the Scotchman.

"Nay," replied Tom, "there's no whisky or owt o' that sort, but there's a refreshment bar where you can get tea and coffee, and tarts, and sandwiches."

"For nothing?" asked the Scotchman eagerly.

"Nay, not for nothing, but cheaper than you can buy it at any shop.

From what I can hear they sell it at just cost price."

"And," said the Scotchman, "do you mean, Tom, that you will give up the evenings we used to have, for that sort of thing?"

"I don't say I've turned teetotaler," replied Tom, "although I have took nothing sin'--sin' I were--disgraced, and I doan't mean to for a bit. You see, the chaps at the Y.M.C.A. doan't tell you not to go to the public-houses and then provide nothing better for you. Anyhow, I've been to the Y.M.C.A. every night sin' I had my punishment, and what's more, I'm going again."

A week later there was great excitement amongst the soldiers. They had now been nearly four months in this Lancas.h.i.+re town, and orders came for the Loyal North Lancas.h.i.+res and the Black Watch to move south.

They heard that they were going to Surrey, and were to be situated at a camp in the most beautiful part of that county. Tom was delighted, for although he had made many friends at the Y.M.C.A and grown to know many people in this Lancas.h.i.+re town, the thought of a change appealed to him strongly. He was young, and longed for new a.s.sociations and new surroundings. Besides, it meant a step nearer towards his desires. He was told that his battalion was to be moved to Surrey preparatory to orders for the Front. Possibly they might be moved to Salisbury Plain or Sh.o.r.eham afterwards, but it was quite on the cards that they would go straight from the Surrey camp to France or Flanders.

As soon as Tom heard this, he applied for leave, and, the young lieutenant having reported that Tom had behaved very well since his punishment, and had apparently turned over a new leaf, it was granted.

He did not spend much of his time with his father and mother, but as soon as possible made his way to the Thorn and Thistle. He had saved practically all his last four weeks' regimental pay, a great part of which he spent on a present for Polly Powell. On the whole he was satisfied with Polly's reception, although he felt that she was not quite so affectionate towards him as she had been during the days when she was trying to win him away from Alice Lister. It was during his stay in Brunford, too, that Tom gave way to the temptation of drink.

"Nay, Tom," said Polly when he said he would only take a bottle of ginger ale, "I never heard of a soldier who was worth his salt but would not take his beer like a man." And Tom, who could not bear to be laughed at, yielded to Polly's persuasions.

"Ay, she's a grand la.s.s," he said to himself, "and a rare beauty too; she's got eyes like black diamonds, and a face like a June rose." All the same he remembered some of the ladies who had come to the Y.M.C.A.

to sing to the soldiers, and he had a feeling, which he could not put into words, that Polly was a little bit loud. Her dresses were always highly coloured, while her hats were bedecked with big feathers. Of course these things suited her to perfection, and although he did not raise the slightest objection to them there were doubts at the back of his mind. Neither did he altogether like the way in which she bandied jokes, which were not always of the best taste, with the young fellows who came to the Thorn and Thistle. Altogether it was not an unmixed sorrow to him when his leave was up and he returned to his regiment.

He did not see Alice Lister during his visit, and if the truth must be told he was glad of it. Polly Powell's spell was strong upon him, and he said repeatedly that Alice Lister was not his sort.