Alf's Button. W. A. Darlington
was getting late when he reached the billet, and in order to make the most of the fading light he sat down outside the hut to bring the buttons of his new jacket to a condition fit to be inspected by C.S.M. French on the following morning.
He made an excellent job of the top button and then, recharging his tooth-brush (presented to him for quite another purpose by a paternal government) with polish, he prepared to tackle the second. But the instant he touched it there was a sudden roaring sound, and a strange hot wind sprang up, tossing into the air a swirling column of dust which half choked Alf and wholly blinded him. He dropped tooth-brush, polish and tunic to the ground and clapped his hands to his agonized eyes.
The wind died down again as suddenly as it had come, and the swirling dust settled; and there came to Alf, still struggling to empty his streaming eyes of pieces of grit, an eerie sense that he was not alone. Some presence was beside him—something that he must clear his eyes and look at, yet dreaded to see.
Suddenly a sepulchral voice spoke.
"What wouldst thou have?" it said.
Alf felt that he must see, or go mad. With his two hands he opened an inflamed eye—and with great difficulty restrained himself from uttering a loud yell of terror. He was confronted by a huge and hideous being of a type he had believed to exist only in the disordered imaginations of story-tellers. The being, seeing that he had Alf's undivided—even petrified—attention, bowed impressively.
"What wouldst thou have?" he repeated in a deep, booming voice. "I am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of any who have that Button in their possession; I, and the other slaves of the Button."
"Gawd!" exclaimed Alf, in horror. "Strike me pink!"
The strange being looked surprised, but bowed yet lower.
"To be stricken pink? Verily my Lord's request is strange! Nevertheless, his wish is my command."
He disappeared.
Alf stared open-mouthed at the spot where the apparition had stood. Then in a sudden panic at what he took to be the effect of French beer after the enforced abstemiousness of the trenches, he rushed into the hut and rolled himself up in his blanket. He felt at once aggrieved and frightened; for he was not drunk nor even exhilarated, and yet he had got to the far more advanced stage of "seeing things." He gave no answer to any enquiries after his health nor any other sign of life until the orderly sergeant came round at réveillé next morning.
"Now then, 'Iggins, show a leg," said the N.C.O.
Higgins had been awake for some time. He felt all right, and had already assured himself by a cautious glance round that he was no longer seeing demons. He sat up, and flung his blankets cheerfully from him.
"Right-o, sergeant," he said.
The sergeant's eyes bulged. All that could be seen of Higgins—his face, hands and the part of his neck and chest not covered by his shirt—was one glorious shade of salmon-pink, shining and glossy as if from the application of a coat of Mr. Aspinall's best enamel.
"Come out o' that, quick!" said Sergeant Anderson, retreating hastily. "Corporal Spink, take this man along to the M.O. at once—don't wait for sick parade. It's measles and scarlet fever and smallpox and nettlerash all mixed up, you've got, me lad. 'Ere, keep yer distance."
The regimental M.O., nonplused and frightened, at once got into touch with the Field Ambulance and had Higgins—now in the last stage of panic and convinced that his end was near—removed to a Casualty Clearing Station. Then he descended on "C" Company's billet with some pungent form of chemical disinfectant, and rendered that erstwhile happy home utterly uninhabitable. The company, spluttering and swearing, tumbled out and ate its breakfast shivering in the open. If threats and curses could kill, Alf would have been a dead man fifty times over.
On his arrival at the C.C.S. his clothes were taken from him, and he was isolated for observation in a small ward; and a keen young medical practitioner named Browne—temporary captain in the R.A.M.C.—undertook his extraordinary case.
On finding that he did not immediately die, Alf recovered his normal spirits, and for a week he thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was a public character—all the medical officers within reach came and shook their heads over him. He felt perfectly well; his pulse and temperature were from the first normal; but his hue remained undimmed. An old doctor who chanced to arrive when Higgins was having his midday meal, got out his notebook and entered "Abnormally voracious appetite" as a salient symptom of the new disease; but this was a mistake. In fact, no further symptoms of any kind developed; and in the end Captain Browne, in despair, determined to give up the case and to send Alf to see a noted skin-specialist at the Base.
Accordingly Higgins' clothes (smelling strongly of some distressing fumigatory) were brought to him, and he was told to get ready for his journey. Observing with displeasure that the effect of fumigation had been to turn his brasswork nearly black, he produced cleaning materials and got to work to remedy this.
At the first touch he gave to his second button, once more that awful apparition arose before him, and the same sepulchral voice was heard.
"What wouldst thou have? I am ready to serve thee as thy slave, and the slave of any who have that Button in their possession; I, and the other slaves of the Button."
Alf's mind was whirling. He had by now half forgotten his previous sight of this supernatural visitor, or rather had accounted for it satisfactorily in his mind. But no theory of intoxication could hold good on this occasion, for Alf's only drink for the past week had been tea. The emotion uppermost in his mind, however, was fear that the doctor might come in and find the being there. He therefore sat up in bed and gasped out:
"'Op it!"
With a puzzled expression on his hideous countenance, the being began slowly and with obvious reluctance to disappear. He seemed to be doubting the evidence of his ears.
"'Ere, I say," called out Alf suddenly, as an idea struck him. "Arf a mo'!"
The being, who was still just visible as a faint murkiness in the atmosphere, took shape again with alacrity.
"What wouldst thou have?" he began once more. "I am ready to obey thee as thy slave and the slave. … "
"Yes," interrupted Alf, who was in terror of the possible advent of the doctor. "You said all that before. What I want to know is, was it you that turned me this ruddy color?"
"Verily, O Master, the color is not the color of blood; and indeed, with thine own lips thou didst command me to strike thee pink!"
"Lumme!" said Alf, light breaking in upon him at last. "Well, if that's your idea of a joke, it ain't mine, that's all. You can just blinkin' well think again, if you want to make me laugh. See?"
"Thy wish," said the Spirit, to whom Alf's idiomatic speech was just so much gibberish, "is my command. What wouldst thou have? I am ready to obey. … "
"Stop it," said Alf in acute apprehension, his eye on the door. "Didn't you 'ear what I said? Put me right, for the Lord's sake, and then 'op it, quick. I can 'ear the doc. comin'."
Captain Browne entered. He was in a very despondent frame of mind. He was a keen and ambitious young man, and his failure to make any impression on Higgins' condition had been a great blow to his pride. Sorely against his will he was now about to own himself defeated.
He closed the door behind him.
There was an instant's pause. Then the officer, without a change of countenance, spoke quietly.
"Ah!" he said. "Then my last treatment has had the effect I hoped for. It's a cure. You needn't go to the Base, after all."
The cure of Higgins' malady brought to Captain Browne much honor and renown. He became the first and sole authority on what came to be known as "Browne's Disease"; several thoughtful essays from his pen appeared in the foremost medical journals, detailing the course of the disease, the method of its cure, and the mental processes