Cupid in Africa Part 26

"Where _Bwana_ sleeping to-night, sah, please Mister?" whispered Ali, as, dinner finished, Bertram sat listening with deep interest to the conversation.

Pipes alight, and gla.s.ses, mugs and condensed milk tins charged, the Mess was talking of all things most distant and different from jungle swamps and dirty, weary war. . . .

"Quite most 'sclusive Society in Oxford, I tell you," Gussie was saying.

"Called ourselves _The Astronomers_. . . ."

"What the devil for? Because you were generally out at night?" asked Macke.

"No-because we studied the Stars-of the Stage," was the reply. . . .

"Rotten," said Vereker, with a s.h.i.+ver. "You sh'd have called yourselves _The Botanists_," he added a minute later.

"Why?"

"Because you culled Peroxide Daisies and Lilies of the Ballet."

"Ghastly," observed Gussie, with a shudder. "And _cull_ is a beastly word. One who culls is a cully. . . . How'd you like to be called _Cully_, Murie?" he shouted in that officer's ear. Receiving no reply, he pounded upon the sleeper's stomach with one hand while violently rolling his head from side to side with the other.

Murie awoke.

"Wha.s.sup?" he jerked out nervously.

"How'd you like to be called _Cully_?" shouted Gussie again.

Murie fixed a gla.s.sy eye on him. His face was chalky white and his black hair lay dank across his forehead.

"Eh?" said he.

Gussie repeated his enquiry.

"Call me anything-but don't call me early," was the reply, as he realised who and where he was, and closed his eyes again.

"_You're_ an ornament to the Mess. _You_ add to the gaiety of nations.

_You_ ought to be on the halls," shouted the tormentor. "You're a refined Society Entertainer. . . ."

"Eh?" grunted Murie.

"Come for a walk in the garden I said," shouted Augustus. "Oh, you give me trypanosomiasis to look at you," he added.

"You go to h.e.l.l," replied Murie, and snored as he finished speaking.

Bertram felt a little indignant.

"Wouldn't it be kinder to let him sleep?" he said.

"No, it wouldn't," was the reply. "He'll sleep there for an hour, and then go over to his hut and be awake all night because he's had no dinner."

"I beg your pardon," said Bertram-and asked the Major where he was to sleep that night.

"On your right side, with your mouth shut," was the reply; to which Augustus added:

"Toe of the right foot in line with the mouth; thumb in rear of the seam of the pyjamas; heel of the left foot in the hollow of the back; and weight of the body on the chin-strap-as laid down in the drill-book."

"Haven't you a tent?" asked the Major, and, in learning that Bertram had not, said that a _banda_ should be built for him on the morrow, and that he could sleep on or under the Mess table that night. . . .

When the Major had returned to his tent with the remark "All lights out in fifteen minutes," Ali set up Bertram's bed in the Mess _banda_, and in a few minutes the latter was alone. . . . As he sat removing his boots, Bertram was surprised to see Gussie Augustus Gus return to the Mess, carrying a native spear and a bundle of white material. Going to where Murie lay, he raised the spear and drove it with all his force-apparently into Murie's body! Springing to his feet, Bertram saw that the spear was stuck into the clay and that the shaft, protruding through the meshes of the bed string, stood up beside Murie. Throwing the mosquito-net over the top of it, Gussie enveloped the sleeper in its folds, as well as he could, and vanished.

CHAPTER XVII _More Baking_

Bertram was awakened at dawn by the bustle and stir of Stand-to. He arose and dressed, by the simple process of putting on his boots and helmet, which, by reason of rain, wind, mud and publicity, were the only garments he had removed. Proceeding to that face of the fort which was to be his special charge, he found that one half of its defenders were lining its water-logged trench, and the other half, its wall. It was a depressing hour and place. Depressing even to one who had not slept in his wet clothes and arisen with throbbing head, horrible mouth, aching limbs and with the sense of a great sinking void within.

Around the fort was a sea of withering brushwood, felled trees, scrub and thorn, grey and ugly: inside the fort, a lake of mud. Burly Subedar-Major Luxman Atmaram seemed cheery and bright, so Bertram endeavoured to emulate him.

The Major, accompanied by Vereker (who called himself Station Staff Officer, Aide-de-camp to the O.C. Troops, a.s.sistant Provost Marshal, and other sonorous names), pa.s.sed on his tour of inspection. Bertram saluted.

"Good morning, sir," said he.

"Think so?" said the Major, and splashed upon his way.

"Good morning, Vereker," said Bertram, as that gentleman pa.s.sed.

"Nothing of the sort. Wrong again," replied Vereker, and splashed upon _his_ way.

Both were wearing the Stand-to face, and looked coldly upon Bertram, who was not.

After "Dismiss," Bertram returned to the Mess _banda_.

"Good morning, Greene," said the Major, and:

"Good morning, Greene," echoed Vereker.

Bertram decided that his not being properly dressed in the matter of the Stand-to face, was overlooked or condoned, in view of his youth and inexperience. . . . The vast metal teapot and a tray of dog-biscuits made their appearance.

"I'm going to have my bloater now," said Berners, plucking a banana from the weary-looking bunch. "Will someone remind me that I have had it, if I go to take another?"

"I will," volunteered Augustus. "Any time you pluck a bloater and I hit you on the head three times with the tent-peg mallet, that means 'Nay, Pauline.' See?" . . .

"What's the Programme of Sports for to-day, sir?" asked Berners of the Major, as he cleansed his fingers of over-ripe banana upon Augustus's silky hair.

"Macke takes a strong Officer's Patrol towards Muru," replied the Major.

"Halke starts getting the trenches deepened a bit. You can wrestle with commissariat and ammunition returns, and the others might do a bit of parade and physical jerks or something this morning. I'm going to sneak round and catch the pickets on the hop. You'd better come with me, Greene, and see where they're posted. Tell the Subedar-Major what you want your men to do. Wavell's taking his people for a march. Murie will be in charge of the fort. . . ."

"Murie has temperature of one hundred and five," put in Lieutenant Bupendranath Chatterji. "He has fever probably."

"Shouldn't be at all surprised," observed the Major dryly. "What are you giving him?"