Phyllis Bottome - The Dark Tower

He had been afraid that Davos would be beautiful, but the thaw had successfully dissipated its immaculate loveliness. Half of the snow slopes were already bare, the roads were a sea of mud, and the valley was as dingy as if a careless washerwoman had upset a basket of dirty linen on her way to the laundry. All the sport people had gone, the streets were half empty, and most of the tourist shops were shut. Only the very ill had reappeared; they crept aimlessly about in the sunshine with wonder in their eyes that they were still alive.

Winn had put up at the nearest hotel and made the earliest possible appointment with Dr. Gurnet. Dr. Gurnet was obviously pleased to see him, but the pleasure faded rapidly from his face after a glance or two at Winn. The twinkle remained in his eyes, but it had become perceptibly grimmer.

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to take off your things,” he suggested. “After I have examined you we can talk more at our ease.”

It seemed to Winn as if he had never been so knocked about before. Dr. Gurnet pounced upon him and went over him inch by inch; he reminded Winn of nothing so much as of an excited terrier hunting up and down a bank for a rat-hole. Eventually Dr. Gurnet found his rat. He went back to his chair, sat down heavily, and looked at Winn. For rather an ominous moment he was silent; then he said politely:

“Of course I suppose you are aware, Major Staines, of what you have done with your very excellent chances?”

Winn shook his head doubtfully. He hadn’t, as a matter of fact, thought much lately about these particular chances.

“Ah,” said Dr. Gurnet, “then I regret to inform you that you have simply walked through them — or, in your case, I should be inclined to imagine, tobogganed — and you have come out the other side. You haven’t got any chances now.”

Winn did not say anything for a moment or two; then he observed:

“I’m afraid I’ve rather wasted your time.”

“Pray don’t mention it,” said Dr. Gurnet. “It is so small a thing compared with what you have done with your own.”

Winn laughed.

“You rather have me there,” he admitted; “I suppose I have been rather an ass.”

“My dear fellow,” said Dr. Gurnet, more kindly, “I’m really annoyed about this, extremely annoyed. I had booked you to get well. I expected it. What have you been doing with yourself? You’ve broken down that right lung badly; the infection has spread to the left. It was not the natural progress of the disease, which was in process of being checked; it is owing to a very great and undue physical strain, and absolutely no attempt to take precautions after it. Also you have, I should say, complicated this by a great nervous shock.”

“Nonsense!” said Winn, briefly. “I don’t go in for nerves.”

“You must allow me to correct you,” said Dr. Gurnet, gently. “You are a human being, and all human beings are open to the effects of shock.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t quite played the game,” Winn confessed, after a short pause. “I hadn’t meant to let you down like this, Doctor Gurnet. I think it is due to me to tell you that I shouldn’t have come to you for orders if I had intended at the time to shirk them. You’re quite right about the tobogganing: I had a go at the Cresta. I know it shook me up a bit, but I didn’t spill. Perhaps something went wrong then.”

“And why, may I ask, did you do it?” Dr. Gurnet asked ironically. “You did not act solely, I presume, from an idea of thwarting my suggestions?”

Winn’s eyes moved away from the gimlets opposite them.

“I found time dragging on my hands, rather,” he explained a trifle lamely.

“Ah,” said Dr. Gurnet, “you should have done what I told you — you should have flirted; then you wouldn’t have found time hanging on your hands.”

Winn held his peace. He thought Dr. Gurnet had a right to be annoyed, so he gave him his head; but he had an uncomfortable feeling that Dr. Gurnet would make a very thorough use of this concession.

Dr. Gurnet watched Winn silently for a few moments, then he said:

“People who don’t wish to get well don’t get well; but, on the other hand, it is very rare that people who wish to die die. They merely get very ill and give everybody a great deal of highly unnecessary trouble.”

“I’m not really seedy yet,” Winn said apologetically. “I suppose you couldn’t give me any idea of how things are going to go — I mean how long I’ve — ” he hesitated for a few seconds; he felt as if he’d been brought up curiously short — “I’ve got to live,” he finished firmly.

“I can give you some idea, of course,” said Dr. Gurnet; “but if you take any more violent or irregular plunges, you may very greatly shorten your time. Should you insist on remaining in your regiment and doing your work, you have, I fancy, about two years more before a complete breakdown. You are a very strong man, and your lung-tissue is tough. Should you remain here under my care, you will live indefinitely, but I can hold out no hope of an ultimate recovery. If you return to England as an invalid, you will most undoubtedly kill yourself from boredom, though I have a suggestion to make to you which I hope may prevent this termination to your career. On the whole, though I fear advice is wasted upon you, I should recommend you to remain in the army. It is what I should do myself if I were unfortunate enough to have your temperament while retaining my own brains.”

“Oh, yes,” said Winn, rising to go; “of course I sha’n’t chuck the army. I quite see that’s the only sensible thing to do.”

“Pray sit down again,” said Dr. Gurnet, blandly, “and do not run away with the idea that I think any course you are likely to pursue sensible in itself. If you were a sensible man, you would not take personal disappointment as if it were prussic acid.”

Winn started.

“It isn’t disappointment,” he said quickly; “it was the only thing to do.”

“Ah, well,” said Dr. Gurnet, “Heaven forbid that I should enter into a controversy with any one who believes in moral finality! Sensible people compromise, Major Staines; but do not be offended, for I have every reason to believe that sensible people do not make the best soldiers. I am asking you to remain for a few minutes further because there is one other point to which I wish to draw your attention should you be able to spare me the time?”

“All right,” said Winn, with a short laugh; “I’ve got time enough, according to you; I’ve got two years.”

“Well, yes,” said Dr. Gurnet, drawing the tips of his fingers carefully together. “And, Major Staines, according to me you will — er — need them.”

Winn sat up.

“What d’ you mean?” he asked quickly.

“Men in my position,” replied Dr. Gurnet, guardedly, “have very interesting little side-lights into the mentality of other nations. I don’t know whether you remember my asking you if you knew German?”

“Yes,” said Winn. “It went out of head; but now you speak of it, I do remember.”

“I am delighted,” said Dr. Gurnet, blandly, “to have reconstructed your brain-tissue up to that point. I had a certain reason for asking you this question. I have a good many German patients, some French ones, and a most excellent Belgian professor has placed himself under my care.”

“Well, what about it?” asked Winn with some sharpness. He had an idea that this queer fellow before him meant something.

“The Germans are an interesting nation,” Dr. Gurnet proceeded without hurrying, “and they have a universal hobby. I don’t know whether you have noticed, Major Staines, but a universal hobby is a very powerful thing. I am sometimes rather sorry that with us it has wholly taken the form of athletic sports. I dare say you are going to tell me that with you it is not golf, but polo; even this enlarged idea does not wholly alter my depression.

“With the Germans, you see, the hobby happens to be manœuvers — military manœuvers. I understand that this spring Alsace and Lorraine have taken on the aspect of one gigantic camp. Now, Belgium,” Dr. Gurnet proceeded, tapping Winn’s knee with his fore-finger, “is a small, flat, undefended country, and one of my French patients informs me that the French Government have culpably neglected their northern line of forts.

“I hear from my other friend, the Belgian professor, that three years ago the Belgian Government ordered big fortress guns from Krupp. They have not got them yet; but I do not believe Krupp is incapable of turning out guns. On the contrary, I hear that Krupp has, in a still shorter time, entirely renovated the artillery of the Austrian army.”

Winn leaned forward excitedly.

“I say, sir,” he exclaimed, “you ought to be in the intelligence office.”

“God forbid!” said Dr. Gurnet, piously. “Not that I believe in God,” he added; “but I cling to the formulated expletives.

“I should be extremely uncomfortable in any office. Besides, I have my doubts as to the value of intelligence in England. It is so very rare and so un-English. One suspects occasional un-English qualities drawn together for government purposes.

“I merely mentioned these interesting national traits because I had an idea, partly that you would respond to them, and partly that they are going in an exceedingly short time to become manifest to the world at large.”

“You think we are going to have war?” asked Winn, his eyes sparkling. “War!” He said the word as if he loved it.

Dr. Gurnet shrugged his shoulders and sighed, and spread out his rather fat little hands.

“Yes, Major Staines,” he said dryly, “I quite think we are going to have war.”

“Then I must get back to my regiment as quickly as possible,” said Winn, getting up.

“I shouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Dr. Gurnet. “I should advise your remaining in England for three months, I think you will be used quicker if you do that. War is unlikely to begin in India, and the climate is deleterious in the summer months. And might I suggest the carrying out of a few minor precautions? If you are to live efficiently for two years, it will be highly necessary for you to carry them out.”