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"Quartermaster, head for the volcano yonder. Mr. Slade, we want to know where you came from; and why you left the schooner, and who Percy Darrow is. And there's dinner, so we'll just adjourn to the messroom and hear what you can tell us. But there's one thing we're all anxious to know; how came you in the dory which we found and left on the Laughing Lass no later than two days ago?"
Gwinnie was looking in at the messroom door and saying "Do you know where Charlotte is?" Mrs. Rankin's voice called out, "I think you'll find her in Mr. Conway's bedroom." One of the chauffeurs laughed. Charlotte knew what they were thinking. Gwinnie failed to retort. She was excited, shaken out of her stolidity. "Oh, there you are! I've got something ripping to tell you. Not in here."
Iris was laid on a couch in the messroom, and the steward summoned Mr. Watts. The chief officer came, looking sheepish. It was manifestly a great relief when he found that the "ghost" was unconscious. "Oh, that's nothing," he cried, in response to his junior's eager demand for information as to the treatment best fitted for such emergencies. "They all drop in a heap like that w'en they're worried.
Some of the buildings are allowed to remain empty for the pleasures of tourists; others are occupied for military purposes, and the Rung Mahal, one of the most beautiful, formerly the residence of the Mogul's favorite wife, is now used for a messroom by the officers of the garrison.
"Stop that talking. You keep your breath till I want it and ride hard." After the officers had galloped away from the messroom, and Sergeant Clancey had hurried after them to the stables, the post-trader entered it from the exchange and barred the door, which they in their haste had left open.
The lower room of the lodge, hung with trophies of the chase, was both his bedroom and his office; while a large tent, pitched on the grass outside, served as a messroom for his military family; and here for three long months, until near the end of March, he rested from the labour of his campaigns.
Then, if he is an honest old airman whose memory is still unimpaired, the young one who has been listening will have sober second thoughts. "I'm looking for two balloonatics," said Talbott, as he came into the messroom; "and I think I've found them." Percy, Talbott's orderly, Tiffin the steward, Drew, and I were the only occupants of the room. Percy is an old légionnaire, crippled with rheumatism.
Some seven or eight officers were sitting round the table in the messroom of the 103d Bengal Infantry at Cawnpore. It had been a guest night, but the strangers had left, the lights had been turned out in the billiard room overhead, the whist party had broken up, and the players had rejoined three officers who had remained at table smoking and talking quietly.
Striking the top of the traverse, it plunged forward in huge fragments into the messroom, tearing an enormous hole in the tarpaulin screen. Unhappily Mr. Dalzell, a first lieutenant with eight years' service, had refused to come under the wall, and was sitting at the table reading. The main part of the shell struck him full on the side of the face, and carried away nearly all his head.
It was soon after his departure that a sound like a distant explosion was heard by those in the messroom, causing some discussion there. "It's only some fool letting off fireworks," someone said; and as this seemed a reasonable explanation, no one troubled to enquire further. And so fully half an hour passed before the truth was known.
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