“You dear boy, that’s just what I like in you,” said Cicely; “you’re such a delicious young barbarian.”
“Am I?” said Larry. “I dare say. I suppose you know.”
Larry’s father had been a brilliantly clever man who had married a brilliantly handsome woman; the Fates had not had the least intention that Larry should take after both parents.
“The fashion of having one’s lunch in the open air has quite caught on this season,” said Cicely; “one sees everybody here on a fine day. There is Lady Bailquist over there. She used to be Lady Shalem you know, before her husband got the earldom—to be more correct, before she got it for him. I suppose she is all agog to see the great review.”
It was in fact precisely the absorbing topic of the forthcoming Boy-Scout march-past that was engaging the Countess of Bailquist’s earnest attention at the moment.
“It is going to be an historical occasion,” she was saying to Sir Leonard Pitherby (whose services to literature had up to the present received only a half-measure of recognition); “if it miscarries it will be a serious set-back for the fait accompli. If it is a success it will be the biggest step forward in the path of reconciliation between the two races that has yet been taken. It will mean that the younger generation is on our side—not all, of course, but some, that is all we can expect at present, and that will be enough to work on.”
“Supposing the Scouts hang back and don’t turn up in any numbers,” said Sir Leonard anxiously.
“That of course is the danger,” said Lady Bailquist quietly; “probably two-thirds of the available strength will hold back, but a third or even a sixth would be enough; it would redeem the parade from the calamity of fiasco, and it would be a nucleus to work on for the future. That is what we want, a good start, a preliminary rally. It is the first step that counts, that is why to-day’s event is of such importance.”
“Of course, of course, the first step on the road,” assented Sir Leonard.
“I can assure you,” continued Lady Bailquist, “that nothing has been left undone to rally the Scouts to the new order of things. Special privileges have been showered on them, alone among all the cadet corps they have been allowed to retain their organisation, a decoration of merit has been instituted for them, a large hostelry and gymnasium has been provided for them in Westminster, His Majesty’s youngest son is to be their Scoutmaster-in-Chief, a great athletic meeting is to be held for them each year, with valuable prizes, three or four hundred of them are to be taken every summer, free of charge, for a holiday in the Bavarian Highlands and the Baltic Seaboard; besides this the parent of every scout who obtains the medal for efficiency is to be exempted from part of the new war taxation that the people are finding so burdensome.”
“One certainly cannot say that they have not had attractions held out to them,” said Sir Leonard.
“It is a special effort,” said Lady Bailquist; “it is worth making an effort for. They are going to be the Janissaries of the Empire; the younger generation knocking at the doors of progress, and thrusting back the bars and bolts of old racial prejudices. I tell you, Sir Leonard, it will be an historic moment when the first corps of those little khaki-clad boys swings through the gates of the Park.”
“When do they come?” asked the baronet, catching something of his companion’s zeal.
“The first detachment is due to arrive at three,” said Lady Bailquist, referring to a small time-table of the afternoon’s proceedings; “three, punctually, and the others will follow in rapid succession. The Emperor and Suite will arrive at two-fifty and take up their positions at the saluting base—over there, where the big flag-staff has been set up. The boys will come in by Hyde Park Corner, the Marble Arch, and the Albert Gate, according to their districts, and form in one big column over there, where the little flags are pegged out. Then the young Prince will inspect them and lead them past His Majesty.”
“Who will be with the Imperial party?” asked Sir Leonard.
“Oh, it is to be an important affair; everything will be done to emphasise the significance of the occasion,” said Lady Bailquist, again consulting her programme. “The King of Würtemberg, and two of the Bavarian royal Princes, an Abyssinian Envoy who is over here—he will lend a touch of picturesque barbarism to the scene—the general commanding the London district and a whole lot of other military bigwigs, and the Austrian, Italian and Roumanian military attachés.”
She reeled off the imposing list of notables with an air of quiet satisfaction. Sir Leonard made mental notes of personages to whom he might send presentation copies of his new work “Frederick-William, the Great Elector, a Popular Biography,” as a souvenir of to-day’s auspicious event.
“It is nearly a quarter to three now,” he said; “let us get a good position before the crowd gets thicker.”
“Come along to my car, it is just opposite to the saluting base,” said her ladyship; “I have a police pass that will let us through. We’ll ask Mrs. Yeovil and her young friend to join us.”
Larry excused himself from joining the party; he had a barbarian’s reluctance to assisting at an Imperial triumph.
“I think I’ll push off to the swimming-bath,” he said to Cicely; “see you again about tea-time.”
Cicely walked with Lady Bailquist and the literary baronet towards the crowd of spectators, which was steadily growing in dimensions. A newsboy ran in front of them displaying a poster with the intelligence “Essex wickets fall rapidly”—a semblance of county cricket still survived under the new order of things. Near the saluting base some thirty or forty motorcars were drawn up in line, and Cicely and her companions exchanged greetings with many of the occupants.
“A lovely day for the review, isn’t it?” cried the Gräfin von Tolb, breaking off her conversation with Herr Rebinok, the little Pomeranian banker, who was sitting by her side. “Why haven’t you brought young Mr. Meadowfield? Such a nice boy. I wanted him to come and sit in my carriage and talk to me.”
“He doesn’t talk you know,” said Cicely; “he’s only brilliant to look at.”
“Well, I could have looked at him,” said the Gräfin.
“There’ll be thousands of other boys to look at presently,” said Cicely, laughing at the old woman’s frankness.
“Do you think there will be thousands?” asked the Gräfin, with an anxious lowering of the voice; “really, thousands? Hundreds, perhaps; there is some uncertainty. Every one is not sanguine.”
“Hundreds, anyway,” said Cicely.
The Gräfin turned to the little banker and spoke to him rapidly and earnestly in German.
“It is most important that we should consolidate our position in this country; we must coax the younger generation over by degrees, we must disarm their hostility. We cannot afford to be always on the watch in this quarter; it is a source of weakness, and we cannot afford to be weak. This Slav upheaval in south-eastern Europe is becoming a serious menace. Have you seen to-day’s telegrams from Agram? They are bad reading. There is no computing the extent of this movement.”
“It is directed against us,” said the banker.
“Agreed,” said the Gräfin; “it is in the nature of things that it must be against us. Let us have no illusions. Within the next ten years, sooner perhaps, we shall be faced with a crisis which will be only a beginning. We shall need all our strength; that is why we cannot afford to be weak over here. To-day is an important day; I confess I am anxious.”
“Hark! The kettledrums!” exclaimed the commanding voice of Lady Bailquist. “His Majesty is coming. Quick, bundle into the car.”