The Four Feathers Page #7

all his appointments for tomorrow.

Oh, but Ethne and the general

will know before we get there.

They won't. They never get the evening papers

in that place until the morning.

We'll just walk in and break the news.

And the War Office

is certain to send a telegram.

You've always got some confoundedly

cold-blooded reason for doing nothing.

Anyway, we'll be the first

to congratulate them.

Don't you realize what this means?

Peter alive, and done a grand job of work

into the bargain.

- Is there any more? Read that last bit again.

- Huh?

- "Lieutenants Burroughs and Willoughby'-

- Hmm.

"... whose release from prison

was due to an act of heroism...

described to me personally

by Lieutenant Burroughs.

A man posing as a dumb Sangali native

gained entrance to the prison...

with means of cutting the chains

of the captives.

He suffered torture

and faced death to do so...

because in reality,

he was until recently...

an officer of their own regiment. "

Lieutenant Faversham.

But why should he try to rob me?

- Doctor.

- Yes, John?

There's some notepaper on my desk there.

I want you to write a letter for me.

I'm ready, John.

To Ethne Burroughs.

Dear Ethne...

I've just had some splendid news.

I've been to a famous German eye doctor...

and my sight can be restored.

Got that?

I've got that, John.

It means a long course of treatment

in Germany...

and I leave tomorrow.

When I can see again,

I shall return to the army...

with the happy memory...

of all you have done...

to help me through.

I'll sign it myself.

And add a postscript.

PS:

Just heard the splendid news

of Peter and Willoughby...

and Harry Faversham.

I enclose a little souvenir

of a journey through the desert...

with a dumb Sangali native.

If you'll give him the chance

that he deserves...

you'll find he's not...

as mute...

as I thought he was.

That's all.

Your bags are packed, sir.

There's just time for a bite of dinner

if you hurry.

All right, Joe.

We're not going after all.

I -

I still say the army of today

is soft compared with our day.

Soft! That's your trouble.

Still, you did your best...

and as Harry has made you two young rascals

take your feathers back...

well, he'd better marry the girl

and have done with it, eh, Doc, hmm?

It's not as easy as all that.

There's my feather too.

What deed of reckless daring

are you going to do...

to make me take back my feather?

Must I?

Deeds of reckless twaddle.

Stuff and nonsense.

No such thing nowadays.

All you boys had to do

was deal with Fuzzy-Wuzzy.

But the Crimea was different.

War was war in those days.

No room for weaklings.

- Take Balaclava, for instance.

- Ah.

Of course, you fellows wouldn't

remember the position, but it was this -

Ah, thank you.

Thank you. Thank you.

Here were the Russians.

Guns. Guns. Guns.

On the right, the British infantry.

One moment, sir.

Your famous account of Balaclava's

not accurate, you know.

- Not -

- Not accurate, sir.

Not accurate?

No, sir.

Let me recall the position.

Out of the way, Peter.

Here are the Russians,

behind the walnuts.

Guns. Guns. Guns.

Here's the British Infantry.

The thin red line.

Here's the commander in chief.

And here are you...

at the head of the old 68th, correct?

Absolutely.

You were riding a horse called Caesar,

which my father sold you...

because, fine horseman though he was,

he could never hold him himself.

Quite right. Quite right.

Then, according to your story, you said...

"The 68th will move forward. "

Quite right. Quite right.

Yes, sir.

The trouble is, you never said it.

- Ne -

- You never said it, sir.

- Never said it?

- No, sir. You never had time.

At that moment,

my father told me, Caesar -

uh, Caesar - Caesar...

startled by a stray bullet,

took the bit between his teeth...

and dashed straight

at the Russian lines.

Away went Caesar, away went you,

away went the 68th...

away went the commander in chief,

away went everybody...

and another magnificent mistake was added

to an already magnificent record.

But nobody ever said,

"The 68th will move forward. "

Unless it was the horse.

Come on, sir. Own up.

Well, well, well, well, after all these years, it's

rather difficult to remember all the details...

but... confound the boy!

I shall never be able

to tell that story again!

Ethne, your feather.

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