The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling
with speech since noon. As the lines and luggage were being
disembarked, he found tongue.
"Beg y' pardon, sir," he said, "but would you - would you min'
shakin' 'ands with me, sir?"
"Of course not," said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer
returned to barracks and Bobby to mess.
"He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think," said Bobby.
"My aunt, but he's a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him
clean 'them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs?"
"Anyhow," said Revere three weeks later, "he's doing his best to
keep his things clean."
When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for
Hill leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months.
"As good a boy as I want," said Revere, the admiring skipper.
"The best of the batch," said the Adjutant to the Colonel. "Keep
back that young skrimshanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him
sit up."
So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of
gorgeous raiment.
"Son of Wick - old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner,
dear," said the aged men.
"What a nice boy!" said the matrons and the maids.
"First-class place, Simla.
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