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We've got steel wire for muscles in our legs, and the night is clear, cool an' life-givin'. Paul hez talked 'bout parks in the Old World, but we've got here a bigger an' finer park than any in Europe or Asyer, or fur that matter than Afriker or that new continent, Australyer.
Jigger would go out to "Souf Afriker" with all his life before him, but he, Ian Stafford, would go with all his life behind him, all mile-stones passed except one. So, brooding, he walked till he came to an underground station, and there took a train to Charing Cross.
It was that 'ere sea-fog that put Afriker into my head, Master Charles; I know that blessed white mist, a- rising up like a curtain, well, I do! The `white man's shroud, the niggers used to call it and many a poor beggar it has sarved to shroud, too, in that killing climate, confound it!"
I'm goin' out there wiv you." Ian shook his head and smiled sadly. "I'm afraid that's not for you, Jigger. No, think again." "Ain't there work in Souf Afriker maybe not in the army itself, y'r gryce? Couldn't I have me chanct out there? Lou's all right now, I bet; an' I could go as easy as can be." "Yes, Lou will be all right now," remarked Stafford, with a reflective irony.
"I ain't got no stiddy job here, and there's work in Souf Afriker, ain't they? Couldn't I get a job holdin' horses, or carryin' a flag, or cleanin' the guns, or nippin' letters about couldn't I, y'r gryce? I'm only askin' to go wiv you, to work, same as ever I did before I was run over. Ain't I goin' wiv you, y'r gryce?" With a sudden resolve Stafford laid a hand on his shoulder.
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