’Fellow-soldiers glorious—true friends
and hospitables. It was an accident, and deplorable—most
deplorable.’ Here he smiled sweetly all
round the mess. ’But you will think of this
little, little thing. So little, is it not?
The Czar! Posh! I slap my fingers—I
snap my fingers at him. Do I believe in him?
No! But in us Slav who has done nothing, him
I believe. Seventy—how much—millions
peoples that have done nothing—not one
thing. Posh! Napoleon was an episode.’
He banged a hand on the table. ’Hear you,
old peoples, we have done nothing in the world—
out here. All our work is to do; and it shall
be done, old peoples. Get a-way!’ He waved
his hand imperiously, and pointed to the man.
’You see him. He is not good to see.
He was just one little—oh, so little—
accident, that no one remembered. Now he is that!
So will you be, brother-soldiers so brave—so
will you be. But you will never come back.
You will all go where he is gone, or’—he
pointed to the great coffin-shadow on the ceiling,
and muttering, ’Seventy millions—get
a-way, you old peoples,’ fell asleep.
‘Sweet, and to the point,’ said little
Mildred. ’What’s the use of getting
wroth? Let’s make this poor devil comfortable.’
But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from
the loving hands of the White Hussars. The lieutenant
had returned only to go away again three days later,
when the wail of the Dead March, and the tramp of the
squadrons, told the wondering Station, who saw no gap
in the mess-table, that an officer of the regiment
had resigned his new-found commission.
And Dirkovitch, bland, supple, and always genial,
went away too by a night train. Little Mildred
and another man saw him off, for he was the guest
of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with
the open hand, the law of that mess allowed no relaxation
of hospitality.
‘Good-bye, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey,’
said little Mildred.
‘Au revoir,’ said the Russian.
‘Indeed! But we thought you were going
home?’
‘Yes, but I will come again. My dear friends,
is that road shut?’ He pointed to where the
North Star burned over the Khyber Pass.
’By Jove! I forgot. Of course.
Happy to meet you, old man, any time you like.
Got everything you want? Cheroots, ice, bedding?
That’s all right. Well, au revoir, Dirkovitch.’
‘Um,’ said the other man, as the tail-lights
of the train grew small. ‘Of—all—the—unmitigated—!’
Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the North
Star and hummed a selection from a recent Simla burlesque
that had much delighted the White Hussars. It
ran—
I’m sorry for
Mister Bluebeard,
I’m sorry to cause
him pain;
But a terrible spree
there’s sure to be
When he comes back again.
THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT
There’s a convict more in
the Central Jail,
Behind the old mud wall;
There’s a lifter less on the Border trail,
And the Queen’s Peace over all,
Dear boys
The Queen’s Peace over all.
Copyrights
Life's Handicap from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
