Part 21 (2/2)
”That quarter!” repeated FitzGerald, indicating the red-tiled roof of the Krausses' bungalow, where it peeped out from amid a solid ma.s.s of palms and bamboos.
”I haven't the remotest idea what you are driving at,” said Shafto impatiently. ”Is it a bit of dialogue in the play you are rehearsing?”
”No, me boy, that is fiction--this is fact! In my official capacity I am bound to take notes, and within the last week I have twice met you early of a morning riding with Miss Leigh--no third party visible to the naked eye. In fact, you were there before the rest of the crowd--and, of course, the early bird gets the worm!”
”And which is the worm--Miss Leigh or I?”
”Oh yes, you may try to laugh it off, but there's some reason for these early _tete-a-tetes_. The reason is as plain as the stick in my hand--no, I beg its pardon, the reason is uncommonly pretty.”
”FitzGerald, you are talking most blatant bosh.”
”Maybe I am and maybe I'm not, and, let me tell you, you're not the only string to the lady's bow; she has as many as a harp! There's Fotheringay, the A.D.C.; there's Captain Howe; there's Bernhard----”
”Bernhard's a beast,” burst out Shafto.
”Naturally _you_ would think so--it's only human nature. But Otto is a handsome man and has a fine seductive voice; and mind you, music has charms to soothe the breast, savage or otherwise; as for your prospects, you may apply to me for a testimonial of character: steady, sober----”
”There, Fitz, that's enough--drop it!”
”Drop it!” repeated FitzGerald with a laugh. ”Don't get your frills out, old boy, I mean no harm; she is by a long way the prettiest girl in the place.”
”That will do,” exclaimed Shafto impatiently; ”leave the ladies alone, or, if you must discuss them, what about the little American Miss Bliss? You danced with her half the night at the last Cinderella.”
”Ah! now I suppose you think you're carrying the war into the enemy's quarter, don't ye? Dancing is not compromising--like solitary rides with a girl before the world is warm, and Miss Bliss, by name and nature, is the only girl in Rangoon who can do a decent turkey trot.
Now, as to Miss Leigh----”
”Oh, for goodness' sake leave Miss Leigh alone and talk about something else--talk about horses.”
”Talk about horses,” repeated FitzGerald in a teasing voice, ”and if he isn't blus.h.i.+ng up to his ears! I'll tell you what, young Shafto, it's a treat to see a real blush in this part of the world; blus.h.i.+ng is rare in Burma, and I'd just like to have your coloured photograph,”
continued FitzGerald, whose methods of chaff were as rude and crude as those of any schoolboy.
”Come, don't let's have any more of this, Fitz, or you and I will quarrel.”
FitzGerald grinned from ear to ear, delighted at the rise he had taken out of his companion, touched his cap, and said:
”All right, yer honour,” but to himself he added, ”by Jingo, it's _serious_! Well, well! However, he's as poor as a rat and that's a great comfort.”
Comfort was const.i.tuted by the fact that, in these circ.u.mstances, there could be no immediate prospect of a break-up of the congenial chummery.
”See here, Mr. Shafto, on your high horse, if you promise not to trail your coat and frighten me, I'll tell you something that will interest you. I know you have been poking round with Roscoe and diving into queer places--are you as keen as ever?”
”I am, of course,” rejoined Shafto, still stiff and unappeased.
”Well, then, I can show you a quarter where Roscoe has never dared to stick his nose--a cocaine den.”
”Not really? Surely you couldn't take me in there.”
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