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Updated: May 1, 2025
'Why don't you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, then? insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in hiring for Dick's benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most of his waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of Art, which, he wrote, was one and indivisible.
'That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way to the Ushant light, for instance, said the Nilghai. 'Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill, said Torpenhow. 'Give us something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight. 'Give us the "Ganges Pilot"; you sang that in the square the night before El-Maghrib.
Deuced decorative lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being handed down to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in rare and curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this time? The domestic life of the Nilghai? 'Hasn't got any. 'The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of his wives in Trafalgar Square. That's it.
Whenever he was inclined to think over a life that might have been better, an income that might have been larger, and a soul that might have been considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would comfort himself with the thought, 'I rode with Bredow's brigade at Vionville, and take heart for any lesser battle the next day might bring. 'I know, he said very gravely.
'I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. 'Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a fiver about a month back. Do you remember? Torpenhow said. 'Yes, of course.
All the mess plate was out on the long table the same table that had served up the bodies of five officers after a forgotten fight long and long ago the dingy, battered standards faced the door of entrance, clumps of winter-roses lay between the silver candlesticks, and the portraits of eminent officers deceased looked down on their successors from between the heads of sambhur, nilghai, markhor, and, pride of all the mess, two grinning snow-leopards that had cost Basset-Holmer four months' leave that he might have spent in England, instead of on the road to Thibet and the daily risk of his life by ledge, snow- slide, and grassy slope.
'What d'you mean? said Dick. 'Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back. It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick. 'Drinking like a fish, Bessie whispered.
'Be hanged, then; you probably will be, for a spy, by excited Turks. Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me. Dick dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. 'That's a bad sign, said the Nilghai, in an undertone. Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to burn, and put a pillow behind the head.
'It would do you all the good in the world, old man. The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech. 'I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, where I shall hire one horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I shall walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a lather and make Rathray angry.
They have no arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You're a fat gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's seen. You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an affable actress, a devastating cyclone, or mine own sweet self. And you presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I'd caricature you in four papers!
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