No More Learning

For an hour he was
conscious only of the sense of rapid progress.

"A good camel," he said at last.

"He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred," the driver
replied.

"Go on. "

His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of
his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in
seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He had
committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him
up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two
lines of the hymn--

When Israel of the Lord believed Out of the land of bondage came.

He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the
saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and
ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the
butt, and stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of
camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was
fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep.
Dick could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to
do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and
punching the driver with the pistol.

"Is there a moon? " he asked drowsily.

"She is near her setting. "

"I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the
desert talk. "

The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind.
It rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A
handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and
crumbled softly to the bottom.

"Go on. The night is very cold. "

Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before
the light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that
he had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at
all save jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would
finger the nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully.
Centuries later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his
left and allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe
distance of London he was watching himself thus employed,--watching
critically. Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might
paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the
black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a
revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, he
was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever.

The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air.

"I smell the dawn," he whispered.

"It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well? "

The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the
pungent reek of camels in the square.

"Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on. "

"They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see
what they do. "

"Am I in better case? Go forward. "

They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of
the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day.

Two or three shots were fired.

"Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English," Dick spoke
angrily.

"Nay, it is from the desert," the driver answered, cowering in his
saddle.

"Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an
hour ago. "

The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind
multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most
uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and
were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object
without the square.

"What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck! " said Dick. "It's 'just
before the battle, mother. ' Oh, God has been most good to me! Only"--the
agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an instant--"Maisie. . . "

"Allahu! We are in," said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and
the camel knelt.

"Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength of the
enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through? " asked a dozen voices.
For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted
from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, "Torpenhow!
Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how. "

A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe
moved very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about,
began to fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually
the scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked
white that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned
over wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square
were coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and
they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet
and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had
cut its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a
man receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and
redoubled firing.

There was no time to ask any questions.

"Get down, man! Get down behind the camel! "

"No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle. " Dick turned his
face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but,
miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair
was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man.

"Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off! "

And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from
the Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the
last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head.

Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his
arms.

THE END





VOLUME VII THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS




Preface

To THE ADDRESS OF

CAPTAIN J. MAFFLIN,

Duke of Derry's (Pink) Hussars.

DEAR MAFFLIN,--You will remember that I wrote this story as an Awful
Warning. None the less you have seen fit to disregard it and have
followed Gadsby's example--as I betted you would. I acknowledge that you
paid the money at once, but you have prejudiced the mind of Mrs. Mafflin
against myself, for though I am almost the only respectable friend
of your bachelor days, she has been darwaza band to me throughout the
season. Further, she caused you to invite me to dinner at the Club,
where you called me "a wild ass of the desert," and went home
at half-past ten, after discoursing for twenty minutes on the
responsibilities of housekeeping. You now drive a mail-phaeton and sit
under a Church of England clergyman. I am not angry, Jack. It is your
kismet, as it was Gaddy's, and his kismet who can avoid? Do not think
that I am moved by a spirit of revenge as I write, thus publicly, that
you and you alone are responsible for this book. In other and more
expansive days, when you could look at a magnum without flushing and
at a cheroot without turning white, you supplied me with most of the
material. Take it back again--would that I could have preserved your
fetterless speech in the telling--take it back, and by your slippered
hearth read it to the late Miss Deercourt. She will not be any the more
willing to receive my cards, but she will admire you immensely, and you,
I feel sure, will love me. You may even invite me to another very bad
dinner--at the Club, which, as you and your wife know, is a safe
neutral ground for the entertainment of wild asses. Then, my very dear
hypocrite, we shall be quits.

Yours always,

RUDYARD KIPLING.

P. S. --On second thoughts I should recommend you to keep the book away
from Mrs. Mafflin.




POOR DEAR MAMMA

The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
The deer to the wholesome wold,
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old.
--Gypsy Song.

SCENE. Interior of Miss MINNIE THREEGAN'S Bedroom at Simla. Miss
THREEGAN, in window-seat, turning over a drawerful of things. Miss EMMA
DEERCOURT, bosom--friend, who has come to spend the day, sitting on
the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ballroom frock, and a bunch
of artificial lilies of the valley. Time, 5:30 P. M. on a hot May
afternoon.

Miss DEERCOURT. And he said: "I shall never forget this dance," and,
of course, I said: "Oh, how can you be so silly! " Do you think he meant
anything, dear?

Miss THREEGAN. (Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the
rubbish. ) You know him better than I do.

Miss D. Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie! I'm sure he does. At least I
would be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan.

Miss T. I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through one's heels
first? Look at this--isn't it shameful? (Spreads stocking-heel on open
hand for inspection. )

Miss D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful
bodice. I've run the string so, and I've run the string so, and I can't
make the fulness come right. Where would you put this? (Waves lilies of
the valley. )

Miss T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.

Miss D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Older look lopsided.

Miss T. Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle.

BEARER. (Rapping at door. ) Captain Sahib aya.

Miss D. (Jumping up wildly, and hunting for bodice, which she has
discarded owing to the heat of the day. ) Captain Sahib! What Captain
Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half dressed! Well, I sha'n't
bother.

Miss T. (Calmly. ) You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby.
He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of
the seven.

AGONIZED VOICE. (Prom an inner apartment. ) Minnie, run out and give
Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes;
and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there's a dear girl!

Miss T. Oh, bother! (Aloud. ) Very well, Mamma.

Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her
fingers.

Miss D. You look pink. What has happened?

Miss T. (In a stage whisper. ) A twenty-four-inch waist, and she won't
let it out. Where are my bangles? (Rummages on the toilet-table, and
dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval. )

Miss D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him.

Miss T. You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced with
him, but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, just like a
newly-hatched chicken, with an enormous moustache. He walks like this
(imitates Cavalry swagger), and he goes "Ha-Hmmm! " deep down in his
throat when he can't think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't.

Miss D. (Abstractedly.
) Does he wax that moustache?

Miss T. (Busy with Powder-puff. ) Yes, I think so. Why?

Miss D. (Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously. ) Oh,
nothing--only--

Miss T. (Sternly. ) Only what? Out with it, Emma.

Miss D. Well, May Olger--she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you
know--said--Promise you won't repeat this?

Miss T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?

Miss D. That--that being kissed (with a rush) with a man who didn't wax
his moustache was--like eating an egg without salt.

Miss T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn. ) May Olger is a
horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she
doesn't belong to my set--I must go and feed this man! Do I look
presentable?

Miss D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and
then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what you say to
him.

Miss T. 'Sure I don't care. I'm not afraid of Captain Gadsby.

In proof of this swings into the drawing-room with a mannish stride
followed by two short steps, which produces the effect of a restive
horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting in the shadow of
the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly.

CAPTAIN GADSBY. (Aside. ) The filly, by Jove! 'Must ha' picked up that
action from the sire. (Aloud, rising. ) Good evening, Miss Threegan.

Miss T. (Conscious that she is flushing. ) Good evening, Captain Gadsby.
Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes. Won't you
have some tea? (Aside. ) I hope Mamma will be quick. What am I to say to
the creature? (Aloud and abruptly. ) Milk and sugar?

Capt. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.

Miss T. (Aside. ) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I
know I shall!

Capt. G. (Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his
nose. ) Ha-Hmmm. (Aside. ) 'Wonder what the little beast can talk about.
'Must make a shot at it.

Miss T. (Aside. ) Oh, this is agonizing. I must say something.

Both Together. Have you Been--

Capt. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say--

Miss T. (Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination. )
Won't you have some eggs?

Capt. G. (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table. ) Eggs! (Aside. ) O
Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S'pose they've wiped
her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds.
(Aloud. ) No, thanks.

Miss T. (Crimson with confusion. ) Oh! I didn't mean that. I wasn't
thinking of mou--eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won't you have some
sa--sweets? (Aside. ) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would
come.

Capt. G. (Aside. ) It was a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove!
She doesn't look half bad when she colors up like that. (Aloud, helping
himself from the dish. ) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's?

Miss T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?

Capt. G. These! De-licious. (Aside. ) And that's a fact.

Miss T. (Aside. ) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for compliments.
(Aloud. ) No, Peliti's of course.

Capt. G. (Enthusiastically. ) Not to compare with these. How d'you make
them? I can't get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond
mutton and fowl.

Miss T. Yes? I'm not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you frighten him.
You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad
policy.

Capt. G. He's so awf'ly stupid.

Miss T. (Folding her hands in her lap. ) You should call him quietly and
say: 'O khansamah jee! '

Capt. G. (Getting interested. ) Yes? (Aside. ) Fancy that little
featherweight saying, 'O khansamah jee' to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan!

Miss T Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.

Capt. G. But I can't speak the vernacular.

Miss T. (Patronizingly. ) You should pass the Higher Standard and try.

Capt. G. I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you?

Miss T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah is very
patient with me. He doesn't get angry when I talk about sheep's topees,
or order maunds of grain when I mean seers.

Capt. G. (Aside with intense indignation. ) I'd like to see Mir Khan
being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (Aloud. ) And do you
understand about horses, too?

Miss T. A little--not very much. I can't doctor them, but I know what
they ought to eat, and I am in charge of our stable.

Capt. G. Indeed! You might help me then. What ought a man to give his
sais in the Hills? My ruffian says eight rupees, because everything is
so dear.

Miss T. Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance--neither more
nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's better than buying
grass in the bazar.

Capt. G. (Admiringly. ) How do you know?

Miss T. I have tried both ways.

Capt. G. Do you ride much, then? I've never seen you on the Mall.

Miss T. (Aside. ) I haven't passed him more than fifty times. (Aloud. )
Nearly every day.

Capt. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm (Pulls at his moustache
and is silent for forty seconds. )

Miss T.