Part 126 (1/2)

”Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there are the Guards!”

d.i.c.k's figure straightened. ”Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look.

Let's get on the gra.s.s and run. I can smell the trees.”

”Mind the low railing. That's all right!” Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of gra.s.s with his heel. ”Smell that,” he said. ”Isn't it good?” d.i.c.k sniffed luxuriously. ”Now pick up your feet and run.” They approached as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made d.i.c.k's nostrils quiver.

”Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?”

”Yes. How did you know?”

”Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!” He edged forward as though he could see. ”I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?”

”They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.”

”Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!--nearer! Oh, my G.o.d, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!--one half-minute!”

He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from the ground.

”Sticks crossed above his head,” whispered Torpenhow.

”I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H's.h.!.+”

The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash of the band. d.i.c.k felt the wind of the ma.s.sed movement in his face, heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a perfect quickstep--

”He must be a man of decent height, He must be a man of weight, He must come home on a Sat.u.r.day night In a thoroughly sober state; He must know how to love me, And he must know how to kiss; And if he's enough to keep us both I can't refuse him bliss.”

”What's the matter?” said Torpenhow, as he saw d.i.c.k's head fall when the last of the regiment had departed.

”Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, take me back. Why did you bring me out?”

CHAPTER XII

There were three friends that buried the fourth, The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes And they went south and east, and north,-- The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.

There were three friends that spoke of the dead,-- The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.-- ”And would he were with us now,” they said, ”The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.”

--Ballad.

The Nilghai was angry with Torpenhow. d.i.c.k had been sent to bed,--blind men are ever under the orders of those who can see,--and since he had returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, d.i.c.k, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon their a.s.sociates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs.

Gummidge, and d.i.c.k had retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle three unopened letters from Maisie.

The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms.

Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins.

”I was wrong about the Balkans,” said the Nilghai. ”But I'm not wrong about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan must be done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You know that as well as I do.”

”I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,” said Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. ”Can you blame me?”