Part 8 (1/2)
”You're a good fellow spoiled, as Jack Gordon said.”
”Thanks,” said Mr. Jones, secretly pleased.
”You know, Mr. Jones, I know a most charming Englishman. He was our Jackaroo. A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for a job. He had a gla.s.s eye and insisted on wearing that and a white indiarubber collar when working round the show. They ragged him, but he stood it all. When they went too far he simply took off his jacket and punched them soft. No matter what dirty job he got, he did it and never whined. He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineage or his school. He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'd been a bit foolish at home. He is here in the Australian contingent; in fact, he's coming to see me to-night. Ah! here he is,” she gleefully exclaimed, as a tall, well-built soldier, with a monocle, casually stepped on to the veranda. ”Come and be introduced?”
”What! To a Tommy,” said the surprised subaltern.
”Yes--and a _gentleman_,” Sybil emphasised.
”Hallo, dear boy!”
”Well, Sybil, what a surprise when I got your wire.”
”Let me introduce Mr. Jones of the Yeomanry--Private Dufair.”
Claud solemnly saluted. There was a twinkle in his eye as the surprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, ”What--Claud Dufair? You were at Rugby with me!”
”The same, sir,” said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full of suppressed mirth.
”Well, shake, old boy! How the devil are you? And, Tommy or no Tommy, you must have a bottle of fizz with me to-morrow night. Now, I'm not going to spoil sport. I've had an awful wigging from Miss Graham.”
”My fiancee,” interjected Claud.
”Lucky dog--put me down as your next-of-kin when you make your will.
Good night.”
”Good night,” said the happy couple, pa.s.sing on to the shade of the palms, where they renewed that love which is mightier than the sword.
CHAPTER VI
THE WISDOM OF ”K”
It was a sweltering heat--a day to drink squash and be on a cool veranda. But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so the Australian, New Zealander, and Lancas.h.i.+re men had to hoof it across the sun-baked desert. The troops were divided into three columns, each striking for a different point. They were bent on a combined scheme in which the ”General Idea,” ”Special Idea,” and other vague military terms figured large.
”Ain't the heat h.e.l.lish? My nose is feeling like a banana, and my s.h.i.+rt's glued to my back! Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or Donkey Brigade. Gravel crus.h.i.+ng's no good to me,” growled Bill, changing his rifle for the hundredth time.
”We're suffering for the sins of our predecessors,” remarked Claud, s.h.i.+fting his eyegla.s.s to look at the Pyramids.
”How's that?”
”In South Africa the Australians went any old way. They fought well, but, as Roberts said, they lacked discipline. That's why you and I are here. They're going to grind the insubordination out of us. They'll march us and sweat us to death. 'Trouble maketh a strong man, Pain maketh a true man,' so some old wag has said.”
”Wish ould Kitchener had me thirst, an' this ould pack on his back,”
growled Doolan.
”Ay, an' these d.a.m.nt moskeetes are ay chowin' ma face off,” said Sandy.
”Couldn't we have been trained in Australia instead of this confounded hole?” added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day.