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Updated: May 5, 2025
He hunted in the folds of his pink cloak, ran a hand under one, and thrust into the firelight a foot-long embroidered presentment of the great god Krishna, playing on a flute. The heavy jowl, the staring eye, and the blue-black moustache of the god made up a far-off resemblance to Mulvaney. "The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole schame came to me thin, I believe I was mad too.
Indeed, Mulvaney seemed needlessly anxious; but I knew that he looked after Ortheris in a fatherly way. "Let me talk, let me talk," said Ortheris, dreamily. "D'you stop your parrit screamin' of a 'ot day, when the cage is a-cookin' 'is pore little pink toes orf, Mulvaney?" "Pink toes!
Ye cud say nothin' to help me, an' yet ye niver knew what cause I had to be what I am. 'Begin at the beginning and go on to the end, I said royally. 'But rake up the fire a bit first. I passed Ortheris's bayonet for a poker. 'That shows how little we know what we do, said Mulvaney, putting it aside.
It was Mulvaney who was speaking. The time was one o'clock of a stifling June night, and the place was the main gate of Fort Amara, most desolate and least desirable of all fortresses in India. What I was doing there at that hour is a question which only concerns M'Grath, the Sergeant of the Guard, and the men on the gate. 'Slape, said Mulvaney, 'is a shuparfluous necessity.
Issiwasti, he sez, 'Issiwasti, Privit Mulvaney, these two will be buried together in the Civil Cemet'ry at my expinse, an' may the good God, he sez, 'make it SO much for me whin my time comes. Go to your wife, he sez; 'go an' be happy. I'll see to this all. "I left him still considherin'. They was buried in the Civil Cemet'ry together, wid a Church of England service.
These northern fools did not even know the meaning of a tip. A few minutes later the pack train emerged through the little alley at the side of the hotel and halted in front. Bill Bronson led his own bay, Mulvaney, and the pack horses were tailed, the halter rope of each tied to the tail of the horse in front, like elephants on parade.
E-vasion I calls it, bekaze, exceptin' whin 'tis right an' natural an' proper, 'tis wrong an' dhirty to steal a man's wan child, she not knowin' her own mind. There was a Sargint in the Comm'ssariat who set my face upon e-vasions. I'll tell you about that" "Stick to the bloomin' Captains, Mulvaney," said Ortheris; "Comm'ssariat Sargints is low." Mulvaney accepted the amendment and went on:
'Combined, says he directly, 'with the interesting little physiological shake-up known as reversion to type. I remember now. Have they gone yet? "'On the 7:30 train, I answers. "'Ugh! says John Tom; 'better so. Paleface, bring big Chief Wish-Heap-Dough a little bromo-seltzer, and then he'll take up the redman's burden again." "But can thim that helps others help thimselves!" Mulvaney.
The "Mixed Pickles" were a detachment of picked shots, generally employed in clearing spurs of hills when the enemy were too impertinent. This taught the young officers how to handle men, and did not do the enemy much harm. Mulvaney and Ortheris strolled out of camp, and passed the Aurangabadis going to their road-making, "You've got to sweat to-day," said Ortheris, genially.
"An' my privit imprisshin is," said Mulvaney, getting off the bar and turning his glass upside down, "that, av they had known they wudn't have brought ut home. 'Tis flyin' in the face, firstly av Nature, secon' av the Rig'lations, an' third the will av Terence Mulvaney, to hold p'rades av Thursdays." "Good, ma son!" said Learoyd; "but, young mon, what's t' notebook for?"
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