What the General had said
Strickland
never knew, but Youghal received
Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs.
Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs.
Kipling - Poems
Miss Youghal, may I ask you to canter home
and wait? ". . . . . . . . .
About seven minutes later, there was a wild hurroosh at the Club.
A sais, with a blanket and head-rope, was asking all the men he knew:
"For Heaven's sake lend me decent clothes! " As the men did not recognize
him, there were some peculiar scenes before Strickland could get a hot
bath, with soda in it, in one room, a shirt here, a collar there, a pair
of trousers elsewhere, and so on. He galloped off, with half the Club
wardrobe on his back, and an utter stranger's pony under him, to the
house of old Youghal.
The General, arrayed in purple and fine linen, was before him.
What the General had said Strickland never knew, but Youghal received
Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs. Youghal, touched by the
devotion of the transformed Dulloo, was almost kind.
The General beamed, and chuckled, and Miss Youghal came in, and almost
before old Youghal knew where he was, the parental consent had been
wrenched out and Strickland had departed with Miss Youghal to the
Telegraph Office to wire for his kit. The final embarrassment was when
an utter stranger attacked him on the Mall and asked for the stolen
pony.
So, in the end, Strickland and Miss Youghal were married, on the strict
understanding that Strickland should drop his old ways, and stick to
Departmental routine, which pays best and leads to Simla.
Strickland was far too fond of his wife, just then, to break his word,
but it was a sore trial to him; for the streets and the bazars, and the
sounds in them, were full of meaning to Strickland, and these called to
him to come back and take up his wanderings and his discoveries. Some
day, I will tell you how he broke his promise to help a friend. That
was long since, and he has, by this time, been nearly spoilt for what
he would call shikar. He is forgetting the slang, and the beggar's cant,
and the marks, and the signs, and the drift of the undercurrents, which,
if a man would master, he must always continue to learn.
But he fills in his Departmental returns beautifully.
YOKED WITH AN UNBELIEVER.
I am dying for you, and you are dying for another. --Punjabi
Proverb.
When the Gravesend tender left the P. & 0. steamer for Bombay and went
back to catch the train to Town, there were many people in it crying.
and wait? ". . . . . . . . .
About seven minutes later, there was a wild hurroosh at the Club.
A sais, with a blanket and head-rope, was asking all the men he knew:
"For Heaven's sake lend me decent clothes! " As the men did not recognize
him, there were some peculiar scenes before Strickland could get a hot
bath, with soda in it, in one room, a shirt here, a collar there, a pair
of trousers elsewhere, and so on. He galloped off, with half the Club
wardrobe on his back, and an utter stranger's pony under him, to the
house of old Youghal.
The General, arrayed in purple and fine linen, was before him.
What the General had said Strickland never knew, but Youghal received
Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs. Youghal, touched by the
devotion of the transformed Dulloo, was almost kind.
The General beamed, and chuckled, and Miss Youghal came in, and almost
before old Youghal knew where he was, the parental consent had been
wrenched out and Strickland had departed with Miss Youghal to the
Telegraph Office to wire for his kit. The final embarrassment was when
an utter stranger attacked him on the Mall and asked for the stolen
pony.
So, in the end, Strickland and Miss Youghal were married, on the strict
understanding that Strickland should drop his old ways, and stick to
Departmental routine, which pays best and leads to Simla.
Strickland was far too fond of his wife, just then, to break his word,
but it was a sore trial to him; for the streets and the bazars, and the
sounds in them, were full of meaning to Strickland, and these called to
him to come back and take up his wanderings and his discoveries. Some
day, I will tell you how he broke his promise to help a friend. That
was long since, and he has, by this time, been nearly spoilt for what
he would call shikar. He is forgetting the slang, and the beggar's cant,
and the marks, and the signs, and the drift of the undercurrents, which,
if a man would master, he must always continue to learn.
But he fills in his Departmental returns beautifully.
YOKED WITH AN UNBELIEVER.
I am dying for you, and you are dying for another. --Punjabi
Proverb.
When the Gravesend tender left the P. & 0. steamer for Bombay and went
back to catch the train to Town, there were many people in it crying.
