* * * * *
Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not unfamiliar
tune.
Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not unfamiliar
tune.
Kipling - Poems
The
clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears.
Is there a single joy or pain,
That I should never kno-ow?
You do not love me, 'tis in vain,
Bid me goodbye and go!
An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he
tried to shake his head.
The Surgeon-Major bent down--"What is it? Bobby? "--
"Not that waltz," muttered Bobby. "That's our own--our very ownest own.
Mummy dear. "
With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next
morning.
Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into
Bobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white
head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of
his life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in confusion on the table,
and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: "So you
see, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you
care for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me. "
Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out, his eyes were
redder than ever.
* * * * *
Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not unfamiliar
tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been tenderly
treated.
"Ho! " said Private Conklin. "There's another bloomin' orf'cer dead. "
The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of
sparks. A tall man in a blue-grey bedgown was regarding him with deep
disfavor.
"You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? --bloomin'
orf'cer? I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin'
Hangel! That's wot 'e is! "
And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the
punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot.
* * * * *
IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE
Hurrah!
clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears.
Is there a single joy or pain,
That I should never kno-ow?
You do not love me, 'tis in vain,
Bid me goodbye and go!
An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he
tried to shake his head.
The Surgeon-Major bent down--"What is it? Bobby? "--
"Not that waltz," muttered Bobby. "That's our own--our very ownest own.
Mummy dear. "
With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next
morning.
Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into
Bobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white
head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of
his life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in confusion on the table,
and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: "So you
see, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you
care for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me. "
Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out, his eyes were
redder than ever.
* * * * *
Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not unfamiliar
tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been tenderly
treated.
"Ho! " said Private Conklin. "There's another bloomin' orf'cer dead. "
The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of
sparks. A tall man in a blue-grey bedgown was regarding him with deep
disfavor.
"You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? --bloomin'
orf'cer? I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin'
Hangel! That's wot 'e is! "
And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the
punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot.
* * * * *
IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE
Hurrah!
