LITMIR.BIZ

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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 God, 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’sh!’

      The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed 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 Saturday 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 Dick’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. Dick 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, Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs. Gummidge, and Dick 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?’

      The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat—

      ‘Don’t blame you in the least. It’s uncommonly good of you, and all the rest of it, but every man—even you, Torp—must consider his work. I know it sounds brutal, but Dick’s out of the race,—down,—gastados expended, finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won’t starve, and you can’t pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own reputation.’

      ‘Dick’s was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.’

      ‘That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It’s all ended now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can command your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.’

      ‘Don’t tell me how tempting it is. I’ll stay here to look after Dick for a while. He’s as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he likes to have me near him.’

      The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin.

      ‘There remains a third fate,’ said the Keneu, thoughtfully. ‘Consider this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is—or rather was—an able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of audacity.’

      ‘Oho!’ said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. ‘I begin to see,—Torp, I’m sorry.’

      Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: ‘You were more sorry when he cut you out, though.—Go on, Keneu.’

      ‘I’ve often thought, when I’ve seen men die out in the desert, that if the news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport were quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man’s bedside.’

      ‘There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful things are as they are,’ said the Nilghai.

      ‘Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp’s three-cornered ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.—What do you think yourself, Torp?’

      ‘I know they aren’t. But what can I do?’

      ‘Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick’s friends here. You’ve been most in his life.’

      ‘But I picked it up when he was off his head.’

      ‘The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is she?’

      Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent who knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened without interruption.

      ‘Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his calf-love?’ said the Keneu. ‘Is it possible?’

      ‘I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling three letters from her when he thinks I’m not looking. What am I to do?’

      ‘Speak to him,’ said the Nilghai.

      ‘Oh yes! Write to her,—I don’t know her full name, remember,—and ask her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl, whoever she is. I honestly believe he’d try to kill you; and the blindness has made him rather muscular.’

      ‘Torpenhow’s course is perfectly clear,’ said the Keneu. ‘He will go to Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,—single track from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in ‘70 because there was a poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire There’s a squadron of cavalry quartered there,—or ought to be. Where this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp’s business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain the situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,—the more especially because, to use Dick’s words, “there is nothing but

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