"Where's the
trouble?
Kipling - Poems
"
A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully--
"When we go--go--go away from here, Our creditors will weep and they
will wail, Our absence much regretting when they find that we've been
getting Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail. "
Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the
sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, "And see, you
good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle--firs'-class patent--eh,
how you say? Open himself inside out. "
Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. "That's Cassavetti,
come back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a
row somewhere, and--I'm out of it! "
The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. "That's for my sake," Dick said
bitterly. "The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't
tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War
Correspondents in London are there;--and I'm out of it. "
He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He
could feel that it was full of men.
"Where's the trouble? " said he. "In
the Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me? "
"We thought you wouldn't be interested," said the Nilghai, shamefacedly.
"It's in the Soudan, as usual. "
"You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton
at the feast. --Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as
ever. "
Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk
swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing
press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the
capacities of generals,--these in language that would have horrified a
trusting public,--ranting, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the
top of their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the
Soudan at any moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in
readiness.
A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully--
"When we go--go--go away from here, Our creditors will weep and they
will wail, Our absence much regretting when they find that we've been
getting Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail. "
Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the
sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, "And see, you
good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle--firs'-class patent--eh,
how you say? Open himself inside out. "
Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. "That's Cassavetti,
come back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a
row somewhere, and--I'm out of it! "
The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. "That's for my sake," Dick said
bitterly. "The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't
tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War
Correspondents in London are there;--and I'm out of it. "
He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He
could feel that it was full of men.
"Where's the trouble? " said he. "In
the Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me? "
"We thought you wouldn't be interested," said the Nilghai, shamefacedly.
"It's in the Soudan, as usual. "
"You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton
at the feast. --Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as
ever. "
Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk
swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing
press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the
capacities of generals,--these in language that would have horrified a
trusting public,--ranting, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the
top of their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the
Soudan at any moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in
readiness.
