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Peter, not sure whether it would be correct to say "good night" too, saluted again, and returned to his cough. "I say," said the officer, turning back, "you have a shocking cold." "Och, never heed it, sirr," gasped Peter politely. "Call the sergeant," said the officer. The fat sergeant came out of the guardhouse again, buttoning his tunic. "Sirr?"
Simultaneously a stream of machine-gun bullets went storming past. "Just in time!" observed Angus, well pleased. "Bogle, what are you doing here?" "I was given tae unnerstand, sirr," replied Mr. Bogle calmly, "when I jined the regiment, that in action an officer's servant stands by his officer." "That is true," conceded Angus; "but you had no right to follow me against orders.
Being quite ignorant of the whereabouts of his regiment when last heard of they had been in trenches near Ypres and failing to recollect the existence of that autocratic but indispensable genius loci, the R.T.O., Angus took uneasy stock of his surroundings and wondered what to do next. Suddenly a friendly voice at his elbow remarked "There's a queer lot o' bodies hereaboot, sirr."
He did not change his attitude as Farnham entered. He probably thought it could not be changed for the better. "Good-morning, Mr. Quinlin." "Good-morning, sirr, to you." This salutation was uttered through teeth shut as tightly as the integrity of the cigar would permit. "There is a great deal of talk of possible disturbance to-night, in case the strikes extend.
"There's a lineal descendant of Major Sirr for you if you like! O, the heart's blood of a patriot! That's a fellow now that'd sell his country for fourpence ay and go down on his bended knees and thank the Almighty Christ he had a country to sell." There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" said Mr. Henchy. A person resembling a poor clergyman or a poor actor appeared in the doorway.
I'm aye shakin' bullets out o' my claes, and I've got a hole in my shoulder, and Andra took a bash on his tin that wad hae felled onybody that hadna a heid like a stot. But, sirr, the prisoner taks no scaith. Our boys are feared of him. There was an Irishman says to me that he had the evil eye, and ye can see for yerself that he's no canny.
Compton quietly reminded him there was a direct statement the French doctor's certificate. "A medical certificut!" shrieked Sampson, amazed. "Mai dearr sirr, a medical certificut is just an article o' commerce like an attorney's conscience. Gimme a guinea and I'll get you sworn sick, diseased, disabled, or dead this minute, whichever you like best."
They congratulated us upon reaching a part of their country absolutely unvisited by Europeans. The site of our discovery was the water-parting of the Wady Rubayyigh with the Wady Rabigh, both feeders of the Sirr; this to the north, that to the south.
There was whiles when he wadna be hindered from standin' up and talkin' to hisself, though the bullets was spittin'. He was what ye call demoralized ... Syne he got as though he didna hear or see onything. He did what we tell't him, and when we let him be he sat down and grat. He's aye greetin' ... Queer thing, sirr, but the Gairmans canna hit him.
"Take this man off sentry-duty and roast him at the guard-room fire." "I will, sirr," replied the sergeant; and added paternally, "this man has no right for to be here at all. He should have reported sick when warned for guard; but he would not. He is very attentive to his duties, sirr." "Good boy!" said the officer to Peter. "I wish we had more like you."
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