The Story of Dr. Wassell by James Hilton Page B

girl’s eye and had to stop. Even though she knew no English she must know he
was angry, and he did not want her to think he was angry with her personally.
So he smiled at her and went on cursing McGuffey as long as he could keep up
the joint effort; but that was not very easy, and in the end he just said:
“Well, all I can say is, McGuffey, this is about the limit. What the hell do
you think will happen to her when we get to Tjilatjap?”
    “Dunno, Doc. I guess she figured that out herself. I didn’t ask her to
come.”
    “Now don’t give me that stuff. I know if there’s any trouble anywhere,
you’re in on it.”
    “Honest, Doc—I’m telling you the truth. She came on account of
Renny.”
    “ Renny? ” The doctor swung round. “Well, Renny, what do you say about all this?”
    Renny didn’t answer, and after a pause McGuffey said: “She thought Renny
might get worse on the way.”
    The doctor snorted and was about to argue the matter further when he saw
over the edge of the truck the two British Tommies returning with cans of
steaming tea. “Well, anyhow,” he added quickly, “you’d better keep her out of
sight because if the captain of the convoy sees her he’ll put her off, sure
as you’re born.”
    McGuffey nodded. “That’s what I thought, Doc.”
    The Tommies clambered aboard, and from the way they looked at the girl the
doctor realized that they had thought of it too. In fact everyone seemed to
be quite reconciled to the girl’s presence except himself, and as he disliked
being in a minority of one he couldn’t keep up his truculence, especially
when one of the Tommies offered him a can of tea. “No, no,” he said
gallantly. “Ladies first…” And with that he looked across at Three Martini
and gave her a distinct wink, to show that he was by that time even less
angry with her than before.
    So the doctor stayed and drank tea with the men, his own men and the
British, and the Javanese nurse; in fact, he even provided out of a flask in
his pocket something extra to put in the tea; and by the time the last drops
were drained he was feeling quite happy about the whole business.
    A mile in front, in the staff car with Muller, the man with the languid
aloofness was also drinking a cup of tea. Actually he was neither languid nor
aloof, but just overwhelmingly weary, and terribly shy of this American boy
to whom he was giving a lift. He was also facing facts himself while
concealing them from others, and for this purpose the air of languid
aloofness was the only technique he knew. He had been told that he and his
men were to remain at Tjilatjap to make a last stand, and he guessed that
there was small chance for any of them, save to be killed or to spend
uncounted time in a Jap prison camp. Quite calmly—almost
languidly—he hoped that he, at the right moment, would be killed. And
as he hoped this, he thought of home in England and the road over a hill to
the house where his wife and children lived. He did not think they would ever
receive the last letters he had written. And half glancing sideways at the
American boy, he envied him passionately the chance of escape to fight again
with better luck another day; but still he could not think of anything to
say. He had been trying to think of something ever since the convoy had
stopped, and with every minute’s silence he knew that the American boy must
be thinking him snootier and snootier.
    Presently he cleared his throat and began: “Er…er…how’re you feeling,
eh? Pretty ghastly, I guess, eh?” (He put the “I guess” in because he thought
all Americans said “I guess.”)
    Muller honestly could not understand a word the Englishman said, but he
smiled and said “Okay, okay.”
    The convoy started again and the nine men from the Marblehead went
riding down to the sea.
    The doctor felt refreshed after the halt, but that made him eager to get
ahead and also—beyond the eagerness—anxious