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Updated: May 27, 2025
They went round the wide verandas and ran upstairs to their rooms, while old Brownie stood in the kitchen doorway listening to the merry voices. "Ain't it just 'evinly to 'ear 'em again!" she uttered. "It is that," said Murty. "We've been quare an' lonesome an' quiet these five years."
'Tain't not arf so bloomin' dusty neither. He buried his nose in a clump of scentless white violets. No one had come to tell the flowers that the season of their strength was long past, and they had bloomed merrily in the twilight of the pines. 'This is something like, he said luxuriously. 'Wot a 'evinly clear drop for a bullet acrost! How much d'you make it, Mulvaney? 'Seven hunder.
"Jist then, little Buldoo kim up, 'oo was the son of one of the Artillery grooms 'e would 'av made a 'evinly newspaper-boy in London, bein' sharp an' fly to all manner o' games, 'E 'ad bin watchin' us puttin' Mister Benhira into 'is temporary baroush, an' 'e sez, 'What 'ave you been a doin' of, Sahibs? sez 'e. Learoyd 'e caught 'im by the ear an 'e sez"
"Oh, I say, Mas'r Harry, it's 'evinly," he panted, as he rubbed away. "Just you try it. Seems to make the strength go rattling through you like. Have a go: I'll pump."
"This is something like," he said, luxuriously. "Wot a 'evinly clear drop for a bullet acrost! How much d'you make it, Mulvaney?" "Seven hunder. Maybe a trifle less, bekaze the air's so thin." Wop! Wop! Wop! went a volley of musketry on the rear face of the north hill. "Curse them Mixed Pickles firin' at nothin'! They'll scare arf the country."
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