Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal
Lodge, where he had but only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby
had said or how many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six
in the morning saw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching
rain, the whirl of the last waltz still in his ears, and an
intoxication due neither to wine nor waltzing in his brain.
"Good man!" shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the
mists. "Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow! But
I've a head and half. I didn't sit out all night. They say the
Battery's awful bad," and he hummed dolorously -
"Leave the what at the what's-its-name,
Leave the flock without shelter,
Leave the corpse uninterred,
Leave the bride at the altar
"My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this
journey. Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachwan!"
On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing
the latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that
Bobby learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters.
"They went into camp," said an elderly Major recalled from the
whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, "they went
into camp with two hundred and ten sick in carts.
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