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James Wait moaned. Donkin scrambled viciously, caring not where he kicked, and anxious that the officers should have none of it. It came in a pot, and they drank in turns. It was hot, and while it blistered the greedy palates, it seemed incredible. The men sighed out parting with the mug: "How 'as he done it?" Some cried weakly: "Bully for you, doctor!" He had done it somehow.
Having complicated the relations of the colonists and Kafirs, and confused as well as disgusted, not to say astonished, the natives during his first term of office, he went to England on leave of absence, leaving Sir Rufane Shaw Donkin to act as Governor in his place.
"Got along far enough to take a station key somewhere?" he inquired casually. "He's made a pretty good job of it as the night operator at Cassil's." Donkin was smiling. "Not yet," he said. "No?" Carleton's eyebrows went up. "Well, let him come in here with you, then, till he has; and when you say he's ready, we'll see what we can do.
"What's your name Toddles?" inquired Donkin, as Toddles halted before the dispatcher's table. Toddles froze instantly hard. His fists doubled; there was a smile on Donkin's face. Then his fists slowly uncurled; the smile on Donkin's face had broadened, but there wasn't any malice in the smile. "Christopher Hyslop Hoogan," said Toddles, unbending.
He could be nothing more in the presence of the great dread which loomed larger upon him after every conversation with the lawyer. For Mr. Donkin had been right in his prognostication. Government took up the attack on the Rendezvous with a high and heavy hand. It was necessary to assert authority which had been of late too often braved.
The road always prided itself on the natty uniforms of its train crews, but Hawkeye wasn't dressed in uniform then mostly egg yolks. He made a dash for Toddles, but he never reached the boy. Bob Donkin was between them. "Cut it out!" said Donkin coldly, as he pushed Toddles behind him. "You asked for it, Reynolds, and you got it. Now cut it out!" And Hawkeye "cut it out."
Donkin skulked shamelessly, uneasy and miserable. He grumbled: "I'm perishin' with cold outside in bloomin' wet rags, an' that 'ere black sojer sits dry on a blamed chest full of bloomin' clothes; blank his black soul!" We took no notice of him; we hardly gave a thought to Jimmy and his bosom friend. There was no leisure for idle probing of hearts. Sails blew adrift. Things broke loose.
"Yes, dunnage and money," answered Donkin, raising his voice a little; "I got nothink. No clothes, no bed. A bandy-legged little Hirish chap 'ere 'as give me a blanket. Think I'll go an' sleep in the fore topmast staysail to-night." He went on deck trailing behind his back a corner of the blanket. Singleton, without a glance, moved slightly aside to let him pass.
'Then I'd better tell Donkin as we've no work for him, said Sylvia, instinctively managing her father by agreeing with him, instead of reasoning with or contradicting him. 'Now, theere you go! wrenching himself round, for fear Sylvia should carry her meekly made threat into execution. 'Ugh! ugh! as his limb hurt him.
Every one had remarked that Jimmy from the first was very slack at his work; but we thought it simply the outcome of his philosophy of life. Donkin said: "You put no more weight on a rope than a bloody sparrer." He disdained him. Belfast, ready for a fight, exclaimed provokingly: "You don't kill yourself, old man!" "Would you?" he retorted with extreme, scorn and Belfast retired.
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