Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “Oh, nothing much, according to your standards,” Jing said coldly. “He merely happens to be a married man with a wife and five children in the United States, that’s all.”

  Tink felt suddenly weak.

  “But in spite of that,” Jing went on, “he wanted this sweet girl to marry him. I suppose, though, you think that’s all right.”

  Tink swallowed with an effort. He felt dizzy.

  “How do you know?” he managed to ask.

  “I saw a letter written to him by his wife. Full of ‘dears’ and ‘darlings’ and information about his five children. And,” Jing added darkly, “a hint about his sixth.”

  “Sixth!” Tink echoed hollowly. “Yes,” Jing snapped, “and all the while he was leading this poor girl on with sweet talk and proposals. It’s a good thing she discovered the letter on top of his bureau. He was billeted at her father’s home, and while she was cleaning up his room she found this letter. It almost broke her heart, poor thing. When he came back that night she sent him packing. And good riddance. Her father wanted to take after him with a gun, and most of the villagers feel the same way. And you think he’s wonderful!”

  AFTER his first shock Tink’s nimble mind began to function rapidly. Something was wrong!

  “I’ll bet Nastee had something to do with that letter,” he said excitedly.

  “Maybe he did,” said Jing. “And more power to him. He’s prevented a terrible injustice and I think he deserves a vote of thanks.”

  “But,” Tink said, “if the letter hadn’t been discovered everything would have been all right.”

  The words had hardly passed his lips before he realized his mistake.

  “I didn’t mean,” he began a desperate explanation but Jing cut him short.

  “Oh, everything would have been all right, would it?” she blazed. “Just as long as he wasn’t found out, everything would have been ducky. Married, with five, maybe six children by this time, and you think it’s all right for him to make love to every girl he meets—as long as he doesn’t get caught.”

  “I didn’t mean that exactly,” Tink said desperately. “I only meant—”

  “I know precisely what you meant,” Jing said, and her voice was as frigid as an Arctic storm: She turned on her heel and marched away, her chin high in the air.

  Tink stared after her erect, departing back, stunned and miserable. This was something he had never expected . . .

  With a heavy sigh he slouched moodily back to the camp, his thoughts dark and unhappy. Jing had deserted him and the Captain had five children, maybe six, and everything was in a magnificent muddle.

  And Tink didn’t give a damn!

  His bitterness was a result of his realization that he had reached the nadir of his existence; things couldn’t be blacker; his cup of woe was slopping over and the situation couldn’t get worse.

  In that he was mistaken!

  A half hour later, §till slouching despairingly about the camp, he met Nastee.

  Nastee’s sly little face was twisted with a gloating smile, and he was almost dancing in his glee. Tink was too miserably preoccupied to notice these ominous symptoms.

  “Too bad, too bad,” Nastee chortled, “but it’s a case of the best man winning. I always knew she liked me, but I hardly thought she’d throw you over like this.”

  “Like what?” Tink said stupidly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your girl,” Nastee said, grinning widely.

  “What about her?” Tink demanded.

  Nastee smirked smugly.

  “There’s a party in the glen tonight. She wants me to go with her. I knew she’d get tired of you sooner or later.”

  Tink listened incredulously, a sick empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “I don’t believe you,” he gasped weakly.

  “Come along and see,” Nastee said with a challenging smirk. “I’m meeting, her at the camp gate.” r With a mounting premonition of impending disaster Tink followed Nastee to the camp gate and there he realized that Nastee was not lying.

  Jing was waiting for him!

  She was smiling brightly at Nastee, ignoring Tink completely.

  “I’m glad you could come,” she said warmly.

  Nastee smirked at Tink and took her by the arm.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  They left, arm-in-arm, smiling.

  Tink groaned, watching them depart, Jing’s disloyalty left him stunned and hopelessly miserable. With slumping shoulders and a deep distrust in all womankind, he returned to the camp.

  Night came and he fell into a despairing slumber, resolved to return to America as soon as possible . . .

  WHEN he was awakened from a fitful slumber some hours later by a hand shaking his shoulder, he was still truculent and cynical.

  “Wake up!” a voice said urgently.

  “There’s no time to waste.”

  He opened his eyes, looked up and saw Jing standing over him, a faint flush of excitement coloring her exquisite features.

  “You!” Tink said. He struggled to a sitting position. “You—Brutus,” he said moodily.

  “Don’t be melodramatic,” Jing said. “I only went out with Nastee to see if he’d spill something.”

  “Ha!” Tink said bleakly.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Jing said, a faint annoyance creeping into her tone, “stop acting like the second act of a bad play. I’ll admit I was mad at you for a while, but then I remembered what you said about Nastee being at the bottom of the trouble between the Captain and the Irish colleen, and I decided to investigate.”

  Tink still felt injured but his curiosity got the better of him.

  “And what did you find out?” he asked.

  Jing smiled triumphantly.

  “Nastee is responsible for the trouble,” she announced. “When we got to the glen he started bragging about how much smarter he is than you.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” Tink said. “Yes he did. He made out a pretty good case for himself too.” Jing giggled. “Then he found a beer bottle with a few drops left, so he crawled in and finished them up. He got so drunk he could hardly get back out of the bottle. I had to pull him out by the hair of his head.”

  “Sounds like everybody had a fine time,” Tink said with a sad sigh.

  “Don’t be silly,” Jing said crisply. “When he got out of the bottle he told me the whole story of how he broke up the Captain’s romance with Eileen McCarthy. Then he passed out under a toadstool. I hurried right here, to tell you.”

  In spite of his hurt feelings Tink found his interest quickening.

  “And what did Nastee do?” he demanded.

  “It’s simply a case of mistaken identity,” Jing said. “I’ll tell you the whole story and you can decide what to do.”

  When she finished Tink leaped to his feet.

  “I should have suspected something like this. Now let’s get this straight. There are two James Donavons in camp. One a private, and the other the Captain. Nastee found some of the private’s mail, planted it on the Captain—Oh, how simple it must have been!”

  “What can we do to help?” Jing asked anxiously. “She’s such a lovely girl it would be a shame if we couldn’t straighten things out for her.”

  “Where’s the letter that started all this trouble?” Tink demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Jing answered. “Nastee wouldn’t tell me. I think he hid it somewhere after the damage was done.”

  Tink frowned. “That’s bad. We need that letter. But we can’t waste time looking for it. We’ve got to figure out some way to make Private James Donavon meet this girl that Captain James Donavon was in love with.”

  “What good will that do?” Jing asked.

  “Can’t tell,” Tink shrugged. “Maybe none. But there’s just a chance if we get them together something will happen to explain the whole thing. You see if this girl realized, that it was another James Donavon’s mail that she had read, it would automatically clear things
up.”

  “It’s a long chance, isn’t it?” Jing said worriedly. “And how are you going to bring Private James Donavon and the girl together? No soldiers are allowed to leave camp you know.”

  “I know,” Tink said, “but I’ve got an idea. Come on, let’s go over to the Captain’s quarters.”

  CAPTAIN JAMES DONAVON was seated at his desk when Tink and Jing entered the tent. His orderly was standing beside him.

  “Who shall I send to the village for your luggage, sir?” the orderly asked.

  The Captain was staring moodily at the letters on his desk, his face set in gloomy lines.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Corporal Reynolds will do, if he isn’t busy. I’ll write out a pass for him.”

  He picked up a pen and pulled a scratch pad toward him. His pen scratched faintly as he scrawled out the pass and signed it hurriedly.

  Tink nudged Jing excitedly.

  “Maybe this is our break,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jing with a frown.

  The Captain stood up and put his hat on.

  “It’s too early for him to leave now,” he said, “but get him started after breakfast. I want to get this thing out of the way.”

  With a brief nod to the orderly he stamped out of the tent, hard-faced and grim.

  The orderly looked after him and shook his head sadly.

  “Too bad,” he muttered, as he left the tent.

  “Come on,” Tink said to Jing.

  He grabbed the telephone cord and clambered to the top of the desk. Jing followed him with a puzzled look on her face.

  “What have you got in mind?” she asked, as she joined him.

  Tink was hastily scanning the pass the Captain had written out and he didn’t answer immediately . . .

  “This might do it,” he said at last.

  He hopped across the desk to where the pen was lying. Exerting all his strength he was able to lift one end from the desk.

  “You’ll have to help me, Jing,” he panted. “Take the other end.”

  “I still don’t see what you’re going to do,” Jing protested.

  “Wait and see,” Tink said with a grin.

  Between them they carried the heavy pen over to the pass the Captain had made out before leaving.

  “This pass,” explained Tink, “has Corporal Reynolds’ name on it. All we have to do is scratch out his name and write in the name of Private James Donavon and presto! our problem of getting him and the Captain’s girl together is solved.”

  Jing shook her head admiringly.

  “My, but you’re clever,” she said.

  Tink set the point of the pen on the paper and Jing lifted the other end in the air. Panting heavily Tink scratched out the name of Corporal Reynolds and wrote in the name of Private James Donavon. When he completed the job he was worn out, but he had the virtuous satisfaction of having completed the first step in his plan.

  “Now what?” Jing asked, when they replaced the pen.

  “Now we head for the village and the home of Mayor McCarthy and his daughter, Eileen: Private Donavon should arrive there in an hour or so to pick up the Captain’s equipment. We want to be there then . . .

  THE interior of the McCarthy home, a pleasant, well-furnished cottage, was well lighted by the streaming morning sun, when Tink and Jing arrived and settled themselves on the mantel to await developments.

  They did not have to wait long. In fifteen or twenty minutes the front door bell rang, and from the rear of the house a big, red-faced, white-haired man emerged to answer it.

  “That’s Mayor McCarthy,” Jing informed Tink.

  The Mayor jerked open the door and the scowl on his face deepened as he saw the uniformed figure standing there.

  “Well?” he demanded truculently.

  The soldier in the doorway removed his hat.

  “Sorry to trouble you, sir,” he said, “but I’ve come for Captain Donavon’s gear.”

  “That’s Private Donavon,” Tink whispered.

  “You mean, you hope it is,” Jing said.

  The beet-red face of the Mayor looked ready to explode. The soldier in the doorway was shifting uneasily.

  “So you’ve come for Captain Donavon’s gear, have you?” he roared. “Well you can take it and good riddance. I don’t want anything of that man’s contaminating my house. And you can tell your Captain for me if I see him on my premises again I’ll set the dogs on him.”

  The soldier in the doorway was a mouse-like little man with scraggly black hair and pale cheeks. He looked very frightened.

  “Yes sir,” he gulped, “I’ll tell him.”

  “Dad!” a clear feminine voice called from the rear of the housie. “Ask the soldier to come in. I’ll give him C—Captain Donavon’s things in just a minute.”

  Jing nudged Tink.

  “That’s Eileen,” she whispered.

  The soldier entered the front room of the cottage, twisting his cap in his hands, and the sputtering Mayor stamped wrath fully to the rear of the house.

  Tink smiled contentedly. Things were working nicely.

  In a minute a slim, beautiful, darkhaired Irish girl entered the room. Her face was pale and haunted with deep purple shadows under great, lovely eyes. She carried a belt, a military tunic and several sheafs of letters and reports in her arms.

  “This is all I could find in the Captain’s room,” she said to the soldier, as she shifted the objects to his hands.

  “Thank you, Miss. I’m sure everything’s here.”

  The soldier shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and stared miserably at the pale, unhappy girl. He started for the door, then paused and turned.

  “And,” he blurted, “I’ll tell him how nice you’ve been and everything.”

  THE girl smiled wanly.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” she said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t care one way or the other.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Miss,” the soldier said earnestly. “I mean, he cares a lot about people and everybody. And he’d want to know if anybody put themselves out on his account. He’s like that. That’s why he’s best C.O. in this man’s army.”

  “Is he?” the girl said, a little breathlessly.

  “Why sure,” the soldier said enthusiastically. “Everybody likes the Captain.” He paused and looked at the melting glint in the girl’s eyes. “That is,” he added cautiously, “almost everybody likes him.”

  Tink squeezed Jing’s hand hopefully. “Things are going fine,” he whispered.

  Jing didn’t answer. Instead she pointed to the door which was open an inch or so. “We have company,” she said.

  Tink glanced at the door and his bright confidence faded.

  Nastee stood in the crack of the door, a ghoulish smile on his puckered little features. He crossed the floor and swung himself up to the mantel with the aid of a dangling tassel that hung from the mantel drapery.

  He sat down next to Jing. His sharp gleaming eyes were alight with sly speculation as he looked swiftly from Tink to Jing.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  “Nothing at all,” Tink said hastily. Nastee’s sharp eyes swung to the Irish lass and the soldier standing in the center of the room. The soldier was extolling the merits of the Captain and the girl was listening, a rapt gleam in her eye.

  “Oh, ho,” Nastee said. “So that’s your game. Soften the girl up by filling her full of stories about the Captain, eh?” He grinned nastily. “I can fix that, just you wait and see. I’ll remind her of a story about the Captain that isn’t so pleasant.”’

  Before Tink could stop him he hopped down from the mantel and scurried across to a table that was set against the wall. He shinnied up the gnarled table leg and kicked back the knitted covering that protected the surface of the table.

  A letter was visible against the gleaming mohogany.

  “Hai ha!” he laughed. “This is the letter that caused all the trouble. Watch what happens when
the girl is reminded of her dear Captain’s wife and five, maybe six, brats.”

  Jing started to cry out, but Tink squeezed her arm.

  “Give him enough rope,” he whispered.

  With another malicious giggle Nastee drew back his foot and kicked the letter into the air. It fluttered to the ground at the feet of the girl.

  She picked it up and stared at it for a long moment, her face hardening and the light fading from her eyes.

  “I almost forgot this,” she said bitterly. “Your Captain may be all you say, but as far as I’m concerned he’s the lowest type of “creature on this earth!”

  Nastee was holding his sides in a paroxysm of glee.

  “What did I tell you?” he chortled, between gasps.

  But Tink was watching the soldier and he saw the man reach out with an incredulous look on his face and take the letter from the girl.

  “Why, Miss,” he said in a startled voice, “where did this come from?” Without waiting for a reply he slipped the letter from the envelope and scanned it rapidly.

  “It’s from Maisie!” he cried delightedly.

  The girl was looking at him as if he’d gone mad . . .

  “What are you talking about?” she said. “That letter belongs to Captain Donavon. You’ve no right to be reading it.”

  “It’s from my wife, Maisie,” the soldier said rapturously. “It doesn’t belong to the Captain. He hasn’t got a wife.”

  THE girl’s eyes opened wide and her cheeks flushed red.

  “You’re talking nonsense,” she said weakly. “You must be.”

  The soldier was grinning widely.

  “No I’m not, Miss. This letter must’ve come in with the last shipment of mail.” A dazed look spread over his face. “Lord! that was two months ago. Maybe I’ve got six kids now.”

  The girl shook her head bewilderedly. “You c—can’t be telling the truth. What was the letter doing in the Captain’s room? And why was it addressed to him? Oh, you’re lying to me!”

  “No, Miss, I’m not,” the soldier insisted. “The Captain had the letter for the very good reason that it’s his job to censor all mail, coming and going. And about it being addressed to him, why look again!”

  The girl took the letter eagerly, but her shoulders slumped despairingly when she studied it.