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Updated: June 2, 2025
And she saw his face, as plain as you please, and with a look in the pale, eager eyes, that for once was for Emigration Jane, her very own self, and not for That There Other One. She knew in that moment of revelation that she had always been jealous. Oh, wasn't it strynge? Her heart surged out to W. Keyse across the gulf of crowded faces.
"There's a blindin' vixen for you!" commented the Sergeant. "Two inch higher, and she'd have doused your light out. Where did she come from, d'ye know?" "Have you any idea who she was?" asked the Commander of the picket. W. Keyse shook his head. "'Aven't the least idear, sir. Never sor 'er before in my natural!" he declared stoutly.
"Gawd knows I did!" affirmed W. Keyse. "An' since she's bin' my wife " The prominent Adam's apple in his thin throat jerked. He gulped a sob down as he looked at her. And the red flew up in her pale cheeks, and in her eyes, as she returned the look of him, her master and her mate, there shone the answering light of love.
"Not exac'ly from Dr. Saxham." Lynette looked at W. Keyse, and it seemed to her that the little sallow Cockney face had Fate in it. A sudden terror whitened her to the lips. She cried out in a voice that had lost all its sweetness: "You have deceived me in saying he was well. Something has happened to him! He is very ill, or ?" She could not utter the word.
"Keyse, sir Corporal, A Company, Gueldersdorp Town Guard." "Well, Keyse, you've heard Meisje hiccoughing ninety-four-pound projectiles all the morning, haven't you?" "Couldn't possibly miss 'er, sir" the pale eyes twinkled as the Corporal finished "not as long as she misses me." "She has a talent for missing, otherwise a good many of us fellows would have heard the Long Call before now.
"Was it 'im?" she panted, as the teapot ran over on the clean coarse cloth. "Was it Dr. Saxham?" "You may tyke it from me it was." W. Keyse rescued the kettle, restored it to the hob, returned to his place, and shook his finger at her warningly. "And if you go to remind me as wot 'e were drunk when 'e done wot 'e did " He looked portentous warnings. "I never would. Oh, William!"
W. Keyse," and blushed furiously, and then grew pale again in anticipation of the Awful Ordeal to come. For she had made up her mind to tell him all, and chance it. Yesterday had been his birthday. She had sent him, per John Tow, a costly gift. The four-ounce packet of honeydew, cheap at five dollars in these days of scarcity, had been opened, and the new pipe filled.
"After being used to the Reel Thing," W. Keyse said, "it was enough to make you up and blub!" That was the first disillusion. Others followed.
And but that the porter on the 'Erion Down Platform 'ad see you walkin' on the Links, and my wife knoo your dress and the colour of your 'air 'arf a mile 'orf, we'd 'ave lost precious time in finding you, and giving you the the message what we've come 'ere to bring!" "From my husband? From Dr. Saxham?" W. Keyse shifted from one foot to the other, and coughed an embarrassed cough.
The owner of that square, powerful face, no longer bloated and crimson, but pale and drawn, was the man who had stepped in to the rescue at the Dutchman's saloon-bar on the previous day, where Fate had stage-managed effects so badly that the heroic leading attitude of W. Keyse had perforce given place to the minor rôle of the juvenile walking-gentleman. "Watto!" he began. "It's you, Mister!
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