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Updated: August 20, 2024
The next day was spent in military operations, uncheered by any touch of sport, but on the second day after Charteris's arrival the shikari brought news of a tiger not unreasonably remote, and the two Englishmen stopped work early, and went off on the hunting-elephant, attended by the wild men from Darwan as beaters, lest they should quarrel with the Agpuris if they were left together.
Again there was a silence, and as the night wind began to draw southward in cool gulps of air off the hills, Winsome Charteris's window was softly closed. "Hae ye nocht better than that to tell us, cuif?" said Meg, briskly, "nocht fresh-like?"
The section of it which chiefly rankled in Charteris's mind, and which had continued to rankle ever since, was that in which the use of the word 'buffoon' had occurred. It was Charteris's one weak spot. Every other abusive epithet in the language slid off him without penetrating or causing him the least discomfort. The word 'buffoon' went home, right up to the hilt.
Sir Edmund frowned. "These things are not in our hands. If Charteris's work was done, no efforts of yours or mine could have saved him. If your work is not done, all the powers of hell could not prevail to bring about your death." "But his work was not complete, sir. There was so much in him that no one realised he had had no opportunity to display it.
But when Honour reached Ranjitgarh, under the escort of Sir Edmund Antony who fell ill again the day after his arrival, and was promptly ordered back to the hills by his doctors she found that the general opinion of Charteris's and Gerrard's conduct reflected his verdict rather than hers.
Honour was opening and closing recklessly the cameo clasp that fastened her black velvet bracelet. "Did you come here to plead Major Charteris's cause?" she asked in a very small voice. "What if I if I told you your your pleading had convinced me?" "I should say you had chosen the better man," said Gerrard steadily. A hand touched his for a moment, and was snatched away immediately.
Thereupon ensued a change of personnel in Charteris's staff, the destruction of another fortress, and the persistent harrying of such members of the clan as declined to come in and submit all of which occupied time and thought so fully that matters of sentiment were forced to take a subordinate place in the ruler's mind.
In this way much of Charteris's righteous retribution miscarried, but once or twice he had the pleasure and privilege of putting in a piece of tackling on his own account. The match ended with the enemy still intact, but considerably shaken. He was also rather annoyed. He spoke to Charteris on the subject as they were leaving the field.
We have all seen John Charteris's portraits, and most of us have read his books or at least, the volume entitled In Old Lichfield, which caused the Lichfield Courier-Herald to apostrophize its author as a "Child of Genius! whose ardent soul has sounded the mysteries of life, whose inner vision sweeps over ever widening fields of thought, and whose chiseled phrases continue patriotically to perpetuate the beauty of Lichfield's past."
And while to be a noted stylist, and even to be reasonably sure of annotated reissuement for the plaguing of unborn schoolchildren, was all well enough, in an unimportant, high-minded way, Patricia was far more vividly impressed by the blunt figures which told how many of John Charteris's books had been bought and paid for.
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