ONLY A SUBALTERN
.... Not only to enforce by command, but to encourage by example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady endurance of the difficulties and privations inseparable from Military Service. --Bengal Army Regulations.
They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was agentleman before he was gazetted, so, when the Empress announced that'Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick' was posted as Second Lieutenant tothe Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an officer and agentleman, which is an enviable thing; and there was joy in the house ofWick where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees andoffered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievements.
Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority overthree millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, building greatworks for the good of the land, and doing his best to make two bladesof grass grow where there was but one before. Of course, nobody knewanything about this in the little English village where he was just 'oldMr. Wick,' and had forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order of theStar of India.
He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: 'Well done, my boy!'
There followed, while the uniform was being prepared, an interval ofpure delight, during which Bobby took brevet-rank as a 'man' at thewomen-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village, and, Idaresay, had his joining-time been extended, would have fallen in lovewith several girls at once. Little country villages at Home are veryfull of nice girls, because all the young men come out to India to maketheir fortunes.
'India,' said Papa Wick, 'is the place. I've had thirty years of it and,begad, I'd like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters you'llbe among friends, if every one hasn't forgotten Wick of Chota-Buldana,and a lot of people will be kind to you for our sakes. The mother willtell you more about outfit than I can; but remember this. Stick to yourRegiment, Bobby stick to your Regiment. You'll see men all round yougoing into the Staff Corps, and doing every possible sort of duty butregimental, and you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as youkeep within your allowance, and I haven't stinted you there, stick tothe Line, the whole Line, and nothing but the Line. Be careful how youback another young fool's bill, and if you fall in love with a womantwenty years older than yourself, don't tell me about it, that's all.'
With these counsels, and many others equally valuable, did Papa Wickfortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers'Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by the Regulations,and the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, andthe battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the slums of Longport,while the drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the faces of theQueen's Officers.
Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and shakydetachment to manuvre in ship, and the comfort of fifty scornful femalesto attend to, had no time to feel home-sick till the Malabar reachedmid-Channel, when he doubled his emotions with a little guard-visitingand a great many other matters.
The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who knew themleast said that they were eaten up with 'side.' But their reserve andtheir internal arrangements generally were merely protective diplomacy.Some five years before, the Colonel commanding had looked into thefourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and juicy subalterns who had allapplied to enter the Staff Corps, and had asked them why the threestars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed nursery fordouble-dashed bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rodequalified mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. Hewas a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures[with the half-butt as an engine of public opinion] till the rumourwent abroad that young men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to theStaff Corps had many and varied trials to endure. However, a regimenthad just as much right to its own secrets as a woman.
When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his' place among the TailTwisters, it was gently but firmly borne in upon him that the Regimentwas his father and his mother and his indissolubly wedded wife, andthat there was no crime under the canopy of heaven blacker than thatof bringing shame on the Regiment, which was the best-shooting,best-drilled, best-set-up, bravest, most illustrious, and in allrespects most desirable Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas.He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate, from the great grinningGolden Gods that had come out of the Summer Palace in Pekin to thesilver-mounted markhor-horn snuff-mull presented by the last C.O. [hewho spake to the seven subalterns]. And every one of those legends toldhim of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; ofhospitality catholic as an Arab's; of friendships deep as the sea andsteady as the fighting-line; of honour won by hard roads for honour'ssake; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the Regiment theRegiment that claims the lives of all and lives for ever.
More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the Regimentalcolours, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer's hat on the endof a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship them, because Britishsubalterns are not constructed in that manner. Indeed, he condemned themfor their weight at the very moment that they were filling with awe andother more noble sentiments.
But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail Twistersin review order at the breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-menand sick, the Regiment was one thousand and eighty strong, and Bobbybelonged to them; for was he not a Subaltern of the Line the whole Line,and nothing but the Line as the tramp of two thousand one hundred andsixty sturdy ammunition boots attested? He would not have changed placeswith Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloudto a chorus of 'Strong right! Strong left!' or Hogan-Yale of the WhiteHussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the price ofhorseshoes thrown in; or 'Tick' Boileau, trying to live up to his fierceblue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretchedto a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping Walers of the WhiteHussars.
They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little thrillrun down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the emptycartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the roar of thevolleys; for he knew that he should live to hear that sound in action.The review ended in a glorious chase across the plain batteriesthundering after cavalry to the huge disgust of the White Hussars, andthe Tyneside Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the lean lathySinghs panted with exhaustion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long beforenoon, but his enthusiasm was merely focused not diminished.
He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his 'skipper,' that is to say,the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art andmystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession ofArms.
'If you haven't a taste that way,' said Revere between his puffs ofhis cheroot, 'you'll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember,Bobby, 't isn't the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, thathauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the other side. It's the manwho knows how to handle men goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.'
'Dormer, for instance,' said Bobby, 'I think he comes under the head offool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.'
'That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool yet,but he's a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of hissocks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goesinto a corner and growls.'
'How do you know?' said Bobby admiringly.
'Because a Company commander has to know these things because, if hedoes not know, he may have crime ay, murder brewing under his very noseand yet not see that it's there. Dormer is being badgered out of hismind big as he is and he hasn't intellect enough to resent it. He'staken to quiet boozing, and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on thedrink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull himout of himself.'
'What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men for ever.'
'No. The men would precious soon show him tha
t he was not wanted. You'vegot to--'
Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby reflected for awhile as Revere looked through the Company forms.
'Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?' Bobby asked with the air of onecontinuing an interrupted conversation.
'No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,' said the Sergeant, whodelighted in long words. 'A dirty soldier and 'e's under full stoppagesfor new kit. It's covered with scales, sir.'
'Scales? What scales?'
'Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an'a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs.' Revere was still absorbedin the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby,continued, ''E generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful,beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say that the more lushin-he-briated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They call 'im the LooneyFishmonger in the Comp'ny, sir.'
Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated.
'It's a filthy amusement,' sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud toRevere: 'Are you really worried about Dormer?'
'A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to hospital, or drunkenough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, brooding andsulking as he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and theonly time I took him out shooting he all but shot me by accident.'
'I fish,' said Bobby with a wry face. 'I hire a country-boat and go downthe river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with meif you can spare us both.'
'You blazing young fool!' said Revere, but his heart was full of muchmore pleasant words.
Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, droppeddown the river on Thursday morning the Private at the bow, the Subalternat the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the Subaltern, who respectedthe reserve of the Private.
After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said 'Beg y'pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal?'
'No,' said Bobby Wick. 'Come and have some tiffin.'
They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke forth,speaking to himself,
'Hi was on the Durh'm Canal, jes' such a night, come next week twelvemonth, a-trailin' of my toes in the water.' He smoked and said no moretill bedtime.
The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river-reaches to purple, gold,and opal; and it was as though the lumbering dhoni crept across thesplendours of a new heaven.
Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glorybelow and around.
'Well damn my eyes!' said Private Dormer in an awed whisper. 'This 'ereis like a bloomin' gallantry-show!' For the rest of the day he was dumb,but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the cleaning of big fish.
The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling withspeech since noon. As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, hefound tongue.
'Beg y' pardon, sir,' he said, 'but would you would you min' shakin''ands with me, sir?'
'Of course not,' said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returnedto barracks and Bobby to mess.
'He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,' said Bobby. 'Myaunt, but he's a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him cleanthem muchly-fish with 'is thumbs"?'
'Anyhow,' said Revere three weeks later, 'he's doing his best to keephis things clean.'
When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hillleave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months.
'As good a boy as I want,' said Revere the admiring skipper.
'The best of the batch,' said the Adjutant to the Colonel. 'Keep backthat young skrim-shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.'
So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of gorgeousraiment.
'Son of Wick old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,' saidthe aged men.
'What a nice boy!' said the matrons and the maids.
'First-class place, Simla. Oh, ripping!' said Bobby Wick, and orderednew white cord breeches on the strength of it.
'We're in a bad way,' wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two months.'Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rottenwith it two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells drinking tokeep off fever and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at theoutside. There's rather more sickness in the out-villages than I carefor, but then I'm so blistered with prickly-heat that I'm ready to hangmyself. What's the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Notserious, I hope? You're over-young to hang millstones round your neck,and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double-quick time if youattempt it.'
It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but amuch-more-to-be-respected Commandant. The sickness in the out-villagesspread, the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came the news thatthe Tail Twisters must go into camp. The message flashed to the Hillstations. 'Cholera Leave stopped Officers recalled.' Alas for thewhite gloves in the neatly-soldered boxes, the rides and the dances andpicnics that were to be, the loves half spoken, and the debts unpaid!Without demur and without question, fast as tonga could fly or ponygallop, back to their Regiments and their Batteries, as though they werehastening to their weddings, fled the subalterns.
Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodgewhere he had But only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said, orhow many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morningsaw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of thelast waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due neither to winenor waltzing in his brain.
'Good man!' shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the mist.'Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow! But I've a head anda half. I didn't sit out all night. They say the Battery's awful bad,'and he hummed dolorously,
Leave the what at the what's-its-name, Leave the flock without shelter, Leave the corpse uninterred, Leave the bride at the altar!
'My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey.Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachwan!'
On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing thelatest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobbylearned the real condition of the Tail Twisters.
'They went into camp,' said an elderly Major recalled from thewhist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, 'they went intocamp with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred and ten fevercases only, and the balance looking like so many ghosts with sore eyes.A Madras Regiment could have walked through 'em.'
'But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!' said Bobby.
'Then you'd better make them as fit as bedamned when you rejoin,' saidthe Major brutally.
Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed window-pane as thetrain lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of theTyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her contingent withall speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie Road staggered intoPathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their strength; while fromcloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up the last straggler of thelittle army that was to fight a fight in which was neither medal norhonour for the winning, against an enemy none other than 'the sicknessthat destroyeth in the noonday.'
And as each man reported himself, he said: 'This is a bad business,'and went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in thecantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them company.
Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters' temporarymess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy's neck for the joy ofseeing that ugly, wholesome phiz once more.
'Keep' em amused and interested,' said Revere. 'They went on the drink,poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh,it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a never mind.'
Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary messdinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over thecondit
ion of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as toinsinuate that the presence of the officers could do no earthly good,and that the best thing would be to send the entire Regiment intohospital and 'let the doctors look after them.' Porkiss was demoralisedwith fear, nor was his peace of mind restored when Revere said coldly:'Oh! The sooner you go out the better, if that's your way of thinking.Any public school could send us fifty good men in your place, but ittakes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble,to make a Regiment. 'S'pose you're the person we go into camp for, eh?'
Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which adrenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted thisworld for another where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for theweaknesses of the flesh. The Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearilyacross the Sergeants' Mess tent when the news was announced.
'There goes the worst of them,' he said. 'It'll take the best, and then,please God, it'll stop.' The Sergeants were silent till one said: 'Itcouldn't be him!' and all knew of whom Travis was thinking.
Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Company, rallying,rebuking, mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing thefaint-hearted; haling the sound into the watery sunlight when therewas a break in the weather, and bidding them be of good cheer fortheir trouble was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun pony roundthe outskirts of the camp, and heading back men who, with the innateperversity of British soldiers, were always wandering into infectedvillages, or drinking deeply from rain-flooded marshes; comforting thepanic-stricken with rude speech, and more than once tending the dyingwho had no friends the men without 'townies'; organising, with banjosand burnt cork, Sing-songs which should allow the talent of theRegiment full play; and generally, as he explained, 'playing the giddygarden-goat all round.'
'You're worth half-a-dozen of us, Bobby,' said Revere in a moment ofenthusiasm. 'How the devil do you keep it up?'
Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the breast-pocket ofhis coat he might have seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters whichperhaps accounted for the power that possessed the boy. A letter cameto Bobby every other day. The spelling was not above reproach, but thesentiments must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby's eyessoftened marvellously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstractionfor a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work.
By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and theTail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, wasa mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimentalchaplain that Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospitaltents than the Reverend John Emery.
'The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?' said theColonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with ahardness that did not cover his bitter grief.
'A little, sir,' said Bobby.
'Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They say it's notcontagious, but there's no use in running unnecessary risks. We can'tafford to have you down, y'know.'
Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runnerplashed his way out to the camp with the mail-bags, for the rain wasfalling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent,and, the programme for the next week's Sing-song being satisfactorilydisposed of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiledover the paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level,Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used toletter-writing.
'Beg y' pardon, sir,' said a voice at the tent door; 'but Dormer's'orrid bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir.'
'Damn Private Dormer and you too!' said Bobby Wick, running the blotterover the half-finished letter. 'Tell him I'll come in the morning.'
''E's awful bad, sir,' said the voice hesitatingly. There was anundecided squelching of heavy boots.
'Well?' said Bobby impatiently.
'Excusin' 'imself before 'and for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would bea comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if--'
'Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I'm ready.What blasted nuisances you are! That's brandy. Drink some; you want it.Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.'
Strengthened by a four-finger 'nip' which he swallowed without a wink,the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and verydisgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent.
Private Dormer was certainly ''orrid bad.' He had all but reached thestage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon.
'What's this, Dormer?' said Bobby, bending over the man. 'You're notgoing out this time. You've got to come fishing with me once or twicemore yet.'
The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, 'Beg y' pardon,sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min' 'oldin' my 'and, sir?'
Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on hisown like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little fingerdeep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water drippingfrom the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the handdid not relax, nor did the expression of the drawn face change. Bobbywith infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with the left hand, his rightarm was numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a night of pain.
Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of asick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit forpublication.
'Have you been here all night, you young ass?' said the Doctor.
'There or thereabouts,' said Bobby ruefully. 'He's frozen on to me.'
Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. Theclinging hand opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side.
'He'll do,' said the Doctor quietly. 'It must have been a toss-up allthrough the night. 'Think you're to be congratulated on this case.'
'Oh, bosh!' said Bobby. 'I thought the man had gone out long ago onlyonly I didn't care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, there's a goodchap. What a grip the brute has! I'm chilled to the marrow!' He passedout of the tent shivering.
Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strongwaters. Four days later he sat on the side of his cot and said to thepatients mildly: 'I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im so I should.'
But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter he had the mostpersistent correspondent of any man in camp and was even then about towrite that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outsidewould be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man'shand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affectionhe dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustratedprogramme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a littleproud. He also intended to write on many other matters which do notconcern us, and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverishheadache which made him dull and unresponsive at mess.
'You are overdoing it, Bobby,' said his skipper. 'Might give the restof us credit of doing a little work. You go on as if you were the wholeMess rolled into one. Take it easy.'
'I will,' said Bobby. 'I'm feeling done up, somehow.' Revere looked athim anxiously and said nothing.
There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp that night, and arumour that brought men out of their cots to the tent doors, a paddlingof the naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a galloping horse.
'Wot's up?' asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the answer'Wick, 'e's down.'
They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. 'Any one but Bobby and Ishouldn't have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.'
'Not going out this journey,' gasped Bobby, as he was lifted fromthe doolie. 'Not going out this journey.' Then with an air of supremeconviction 'I can't, you see.'
'Not if I can do anything!' said the Surgeon-Major, who had hastenedover from the mess where he had been dining.
He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with Death for the life
of Bobby Wick. Their work was interrupted by a hairy apparition in abluegray dressing-gown who stared in horror at the bed and cried 'Oh, myGawd! It can't be 'im!' until an indignant Hospital Orderly whisked himaway.
If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby wouldhave been saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, and theSurgeon-Major's brow uncreased. 'We'll save him yet,' he said; and theSurgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthfulheart, went out upon the word and pranced joyously in the mud.
'Not going out this journey,' whispered Bobby Wick gallantly, at the endof the third day.
'Bravo!' said the Surgeon-Major. 'That's the way to look at it, Bobby.'
As evening fell a gray shade gathered round Bobby's mouth, and he turnedhis face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned.
'I'm awfully tired,' said Bobby, very faintly. 'What's the use ofbothering me with medicine? I don't want it. Let me alone.'
The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away onthe easy tide of Death.
'It's no good,' said the Surgeon-Major. 'He doesn't want to live. He'smeeting it, poor child.' And he blew his nose.
Half a mile away the regimental band was playing the overture to theSing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. Theclash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears.
Is there a single joy or pain, That I should never kno-ow? You do not love me, 'tis in vain, Bid me good-bye and go!
An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and hetried to shake his head.
The Surgeon-Major bent down 'What is it, Bobby?' 'Not that waltz,'muttered Bobby. 'That's our own our very ownest own. Mummy dear.'
With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early nextmorning.
Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went intoBobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the whitehead of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow ofhis life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in confusion on the table,and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: 'So yousee, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know youcare for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.'
Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out his eyes wereredder than ever.
Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a notunfamiliar tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have beentenderly treated.
'Ho!' said Private Conklin. 'There's another bloomin' orf'cer da ed.'
The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful ofsparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deepdisfavour.
'You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? Bloomin' orf'cer?I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin' Hangel!That's wot'e is!'
And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of thepunishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot.
Under the Deodars Page 6
