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"'Ere, do you think I'm a bloomin' Crosus? I've done the trick twice-ten pounds o' loot once, an' ten golden shillin's another. Bloomin' thieves both of 'em said they wuz goin' to Homdurman, and didn't not much! But one of 'em went to 'eaven with cholery, an' one is livin' yet with a crooked leg, with is less than I wuz workin' for." Holgate was sitting bolt upright now.
"I should think it was something like that," answered Dicky, his eyes wandering over the peninsula beyond which lay Hasha. "Summat, aw be sure," answered Holgate, "an' ma woord on't... ah, yon coomes orderly wi' post for Goovnur. Now it be Hasha, or it be not Hasha, it be time for steam oop."
Dicky's way of getting information seemed guileless, and Holgate opened his basket as wide as he knew. It be reg'lar as kitchen-fire, this Hasha business, for three years, ever sin' aw been scrapin' mud o' Nile River." "That was a nasty row they had over the cemetery three years ago, the Governor against the lot, from mamour to wekeel!"
It was his duty to inspect the place: he had a conscience; there was time to get to Hasha that afternoon. With an effort he rose, hurried along the deck, and called down to Holgate: "Full-steam to Hasha!" Then, with a quick command to the reis, who was already at the wheel, he lighted a cigar, and, joining Dicky Donovan, began to smoke and talk furiously. But he did not talk of Hasha.
"I should think it was something like that," answered Dicky, his eyes wandering over the peninsula beyond which lay Hasha. "Summat, aw be sure," answered Holgate, "an' ma woord on't . . . ah, yon coomes orderly wi' post for Goovnur. Now it be Hasha, or it be not Hasha, it be time for steam oop."
Holgate, being excited, was in a fit state to tell the truth, if he knew it; which was what Dicky had worked for; but Holgate only said: "It bean't fear, and it bean't milk o' human kindness. It be soort o' thing a man gets. Aw had it once i' Bradford, in Little Cornish Street.
"I've nothing to forgive," said Henry Withers. A smile lighted the blanched face of the dying man. "Give me love to the b'y to Peter Macnamara," he said, and fell back with a smile on his face. "I'd do it again. Wot's a lie so long as it does good?" said Henry Withers afterwards to Holgate the engineer. "But tell 'er tell Kitty no fear! I ain't no bloomin' fool. 'E's 'appy that's enough.
"A floower in front garden!" ironically responded Holgate, the Yorkshire engineer, as he lay on his back on the lower deck of the Osiris, waiting for Fielding Pasha's orders to steam up the river. "'E was the bloomin' flower of the flock," said Henry Withers, with a cross between a yawn and a sigh, and refusing to notice Holgate's sarcasm.
Twice he did this; which was very little like Fielding Bey. The second time, when Holgate came below to his engine, Dicky was there playing with a Farshoot dog. "We don't stop at Hasha, then?" Dicky asked, and let the Farshoot fasten on his leggings. Holgate swung round and eyed Dicky curiously, a queer smile at his lips. "Not if Goovnur can 'elp, aw give ye ma woord, sir," answered Holgate.
"Aye, aw've heerd o' Gordon a bit," said Holgate dubiously, intent to further anger the Beetle, as Henry Withers was called. "Ow yus, ow verily yus! An' y've 'eard o' Julius Caesar, an' Nebucha'nezzar, an' Florence Noightingyle, 'aven't you you wich is chiefly bellyband and gullet." "Aye, aw've eaten too mooch to-day," rejoined Holgate placidly, refusing to see insult.
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