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The eyelids drooped, and his gaze was again one of infantile innocence. His fat smooth jowls quivered, as he waited with an expectant smile for my answer. I'll admit I was completely bowled over for a moment. A hush had fallen upon the room. I heard a voice behind me exclaim softly and bitterly, "Gaw' blimme, 'e's got it!"
It was all I could do to keep from flying at his throat, when he came within reach of my arms. He murmured some hypocritical words as he stepped into my place. He was a good dissembler. "My heye, but poor 'Oly Joe caught it," says he. "They bloomin' near skinned 'im alive. They 'arve Newman in the lazaret. Blimme, Shreve, we got to do somethink abaht it!" The answer he got was a grunt.
The girl Glad sat clinging to her knees, her eyes wide and awed and with a sudden gush of hysteric tears rushing down her cheeks. "That's the wye! That's the wye!" she gulped out. "No one won't never believe they won't, NEVER. That's what she sees, Miss Montaubyn. You don't, 'E don't," with a jerk toward the curate. "I ain't nothin' but ME, but blimme if I don't blimme!"
He said, that sailmaker did, as how Swope got drunk, and beat her." The big Cockney, who had been visibly possessed by a pompous self-importance since his elevation to the dignity of runner, saw fit to interpose his contrary opinion of the Lady of the Golden Bough. Because the man was vile, his words were vile. "Blimme, yer needn't worrit abaht Yankee Swope's lydy, as yer call 'er.
The bread was getting deplorable, for even the dusty seconds flour was fast dribbling out. "You'll give 'er this, won't you, Miss, and tell her I bin thinkin' of 'er night and d'y? Fair live in the trenches now; and when I do git strollin' round the stad, blimme if I ever see 'er. But she's there an 'ere's a ticker beatin' true to 'er."
Yesterday the newspaper rumor that its owner had mysteriously left England had caused men on 'Change to discuss possibilities together with lowered voices. Glad stared at the curate. For the first time she looked disturbed and alarmed. "Blimme," she ejaculated, "'e's gone off 'is nut, pore chap! 'e's gone off it!"
"Ow, Gaw' blimme, let hup! Hi never meant northin'! A lie Ow, yuss a lie! She's a proper lydy Hi never 'eard the hother Gaw' strike me blind!" The man with the scar cast the fellow contemptuously away; and Cockney lost no time in putting the distance of the room between them. The big man turned on the Swede, and his voice was sharp and commanding. "Swede, does the Golden Bough sail to-morrow?"
"Blimme, 'ere's a go!... beggar of a nigger givin' me wot-for 's if 'e was a gent! 'Oo in 'ell d'ye think y'are, yer 'ighness? "That'll do. Put down those guns, and call your commanding officer. I'll explain to him. Where is he? What troops are you? When did you arrive?"
"Bless yer, wot's in my room's in yours; Lor', yes." Glad's eyes stared into hers, they became mysteriously, almost awesomely, astonishing also. "Is it?" she breathed in a hushed voice. "Yes, Lor', yes! When yer get up in the mornin' you just stand still an' ARST it. 'Speak, Lord, ses you; 'speak, Lord " "Thy servant 'eareth," ended Glad's hushed speech. "Blimme, but I 'm goin' to try it!"
Such queries and commands discharged quickly in crisp English from the mouth of one who wore the color and costume of a Mohammedan of high degree, temporarily dazed his captors. In a body they pressed round the three, peering curiously into their faces the two white and the one dark; and their murmurings rose and swelled discordant. "Blimme if 'e ain't a gent!" "T'other un is!"
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