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They looked around them, and admitted they could not. "Apparently," said Phineas, "the Colonel, good but limited man, has missed all the proper places and dumps us in localities unrecognized by the London Press." "Put me on the pier at Brighton," sang Mo Shendish. "But I'd sooner have Margit or Yarmouth any day. Brighton's too toffish for whelks. My! and cockles!
The door burst suddenly open and the anxious face of Mo Shendish appeared. "'Ere, you silly cuckoo, don't yer know you're on guard to-night? You've just got about thirty seconds." "Good lord!" cried Doggie, "I forgot. Bon soir, mademoiselle. Service militaire," and he rushed out. Mo lingered, with a grin, and jerked a backward thumb.
And any man Jack of them, having Jeanne's confidence, having the knowledge of the situation of the ruined well, having the God-sent opportunity of recovering the treasure, would, of absolute certainty, have done exactly what he, Doggie, had done. Supposing Mo Shendish had been the privileged person, instead of himself. What, by way of thanks, could Jeanne have written?
"Mademoiselle," said he, in his best Durdlebury manner, "may I dare to present my two comrades, my best friends in the battalion, Monsieur McPhail, Monsieur Shendish?" She made them each a little formal bow, and then, somewhat maliciously, addressing McPhail, as the bigger and the elder of the two: "I don't yet know the name of your friend." Phineas put his great hand on Doggie's shoulder.
When I wanted to run away a very natural desire, considering the scrupulous attention I've always paid to my bodily well-being I reflected on the preposterous obstacles put in the way of flight by a bowelless military system, and adapted myself to the static and dynamic conditions of the trenches." "Gorblime!" said Mo Shendish, stretched out by his side, "just listen to him!"
And then came a rusty crew, among whom she recognized McPhail's tall gaunt figure. She stood by the gateway, bareheaded, in her black dress and blue apron, defying the sharp morning air, and watched them pass through. She saw Mo Shendish, his eyes on the heels of the man in front. She recognized nearly all. But the man she looked for was not there.
What has come over you to-day?" "If he'd said a thing like that in Mare Street, Hackney, I'd have knocked his blinking 'ead orf," declared Mo Shendish. Doggie stopped and put his parcel-filled hands behind his back. "Have a try now, Mo." But Mo bade him fry his ugly face, and thus established harmony.
Doggie stuck out his hand like a monkey in the Zoo. "You selfish beast!" he said. The fighting went on and, to Doggie, the inhabitants of the outside world became almost as phantasmagorical as Phineas's providential aunt in Galashiels. Immediate existence held him. In an historic battle Mo Shendish fell with a machine bullet through his heart.
"Do you think so?" asked Doggie, startled. "Man, I know it," replied Phineas. "Ghosts be blowed!" cried Mo Shendish. "She's a bit of orl right, she is. What I call class. Doesn't chuck 'erself at yer 'ead, like some of 'em, and, on the other 'and, has none of yer blooming stand-orfishness. See what I mean?" He clutched them each by an arm he was between them. "Look 'ere.
Mo Shendish grinned. He showed little yellow teeth beneath a little red moustache. "I ain't 'alf got one," said he. "It's in Mare Street, Hackney. I wish I was there now." He sighed, and in an abstracted way he took a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear and relit it. "What were yer before yer joined? Yer look like a clerk." He pronounced it as if it were spelt with a "u."
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