Part 17 (2/2)

CHAPTER VIII

And these two, as I have told you, Were the friends of Hiawatha, Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind.

--Hiawatha.

TORPENHOW was paging the last sheets of some ma.n.u.script, while the Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was reading through the first part, commenting scornfully the while.

'It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy,' said he; 'but as a serious consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much.'

'It's off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine slips altogether, aren't there? That should make between eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!' Torpenhow shuffled the writing together and hummed--

Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, If I'd as much money as I could tell, I never would cry, Young lambs to sell!

d.i.c.k entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of tempers with all the world.

'Back at last?' said Torpenhow.

'More or less. What have you been doing?'

'Work. d.i.c.kie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you.

Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a line.

It's scandalous.'

'The notions come and go, my children--they come and go like our 'baccy,' he answered, filling his pipe. 'Moreover,' he stooped to thrust a spill into the grate, 'Apollo does not always stretch his---- Oh, confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!'

'This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,'

said the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to their nail on the wall. 'We believe in cobblers' wax. La!--where you sit down.'

'If you weren't so big and fat,' said d.i.c.k, looking round for a weapon, 'I'd----'

'No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time you threw the cus.h.i.+ons about. You might have the decency to say How d'you do? to Binkie. Look at him.'

Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round d.i.c.k's knee, and scratching at his boots.

'Dear man!' said d.i.c.k, s.n.a.t.c.hing him up, and kissing him on the black patch above his right eye. 'Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai turn you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.' He pitched him on the Nilghai's stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cus.h.i.+on extinguished him, and panting he stuck out his tongue at the company.

'The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp.

I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters were being taken down--just as if he hadn't enough to eat in his own proper house,' said d.i.c.k.

'Binks, is that a true bill?' said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog retreated under the sofa cus.h.i.+on, and showed by the fat white back of him that he really had no further interest in the discussion.

'Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,' said the Nilghai. 'What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be buying a horse.'

'He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that.

No, I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and watch the pretty s.h.i.+ps go by.'

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