re
he did not much enjoy the sight of his father's foolish and unreasonable
devotion to Lawrence. If you come to think of it, he would have been a
full-fledged angel if no jealous pang, no reflection that it was rather
rough on him, had crossed his mind, when he saw his younger brother
treated with every mark of respect and liking, and knew that Lawrence
would never stir a finger really to help the poor fractious invalid.
Unluckily they happened one night to get on the subject of professions.

"It's a comfort," said the Major, in his sarcastic way, "to have a
fellow-soldier to talk to instead of a quill-driver, who as yet is not
even a penny-a-liner. Eh, Derrick? Don't you feel inclined to regret
your fool's choice now? You might have been starting off for the war
with Lawrence next week, if you hadn't chosen what you're pleased to
call a literary life. Literary life, indeed! I little thought a son of
mine would ever have been so wanting in spirit as to prefer dabbling in
ink to a life of action--to be the scribbler of mere words, rather than
an officer of dragoons."

Then to my astonishment Derrick sprang to his feet in hot indignation.
I never saw him look so handsome, before or since; for his anger was
not the distorting, devilish anger that the Major gave way to, but real
downright wrath.

"You speak contemptuously of mere novels," he said in a low voice, yet
more clearly than usual, and as if the words were wrung out of him.
"What right have you to look down on one of the greatest weapons of the
day? and why is a writer to submit to scoffs and insults and tamely to
hear his profession reviled? I have chosen to write the message that
has been given me, and I don't regret the choice. Should I have shown
greater spirit if I had sold my freedom and right of judgment to be one
of the national killing machines?"

With that he threw down his cards and strode out of the room in a white
heat of anger. It was a pity he made that last remark, for it put him
in the wrong and needlessly annoyed Lawrence and the Major. But an angry
man has no time to weigh his words, and, as I said, poor old Derrick
was very human, and when wounded too intolerably could on occasion
retaliate.

The Major uttered an oath and looked in astonishment at the retreating
figure. Derrick was such an extraordinarily quiet, respectful,
long-suffering son as a rule, that this outburst was startling in the
extreme. Moreover, it spoilt the game, and the