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"A bloomin' Bismarck! Hi made the 'ole show pay." "This interferin' bit av a Benira man," said Mulvaney, "did the thrick for us himself; for, on me sowl, we hadn't a notion av what was to come afther the next minut. He was shoppin' in the bazaar on fut. 'Twas dhrawin' dusk thin, an' we stud watchin' the little man hoppin' in an' out av the shops, thryin to injuce the naygurs to mallum his bat. Prisintly, he sthrols up, his arrums full av thruck, an' he sez in a consiquinshal way, shticking out his little belly:-'Me good men,' sez he, have ye seen the Kernel's b'roosh?" 'B'roosh?' says Learoyd. There's no b'roosh here-nobbut a hekka.' nobbut a hekka.' 'Fwhat's that?' sez Thrigg. Learoyd shows him wan down the sthreet, an' he sez: 'How thruly Orientil! I will ride on a hekka.' I saw thin that our Rigimintal Saint was for givin' Thrigg over to us neck an' brisket. I purshued a hekka, an' I sez to the dhriver-divil, I sez Ye black limb, there's a Sahib comin' for this hekka. He wants to go jildi to the Padsahi Jhil'-'twas about tu moiles away, to shoot snipe-chirria. You dhrive Jehannum ke marfik, mallum? 'Tis no manner av faider bukkin' to the Sahib, bekase he doesn't samjao your bat. Av he bolos anything, just you choop and chel. Dekker? Go arsty for the first arder-mile from cantonmints. Then chel, Shaitan ke marfik, an' the chooper you choops an' the jilder you chels the better kooshy will that Sahib be; an' here's a rupee for ye.'



"The hekka-man knew there was somethin' out av the com

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mon in the air. He grinned and sez: He grinned and sez:- Bote achee! I goin' damn fast.' I prayed that the Kernel's b'roosh wudn't arrive till me darlin' Benira by the grace av God was undher weigh. The little man puts his thruck into the hekka an' scuttles in like a fat guinea-pig; niver offerin' us the price of a dhrink for our services in helpin' him home. 'He's off to the Padsahi jhil,' sez I to the others."

Ortheris took up the tale:

"Jist then, little Buldoo kim up, 'oo was the son of one of the Artillery Saises-'e would 'av made a 'evinly newspaperboy in London, bein' sharp and fly to all manner o' games. 'E 'ad bin watchin' us puttin' Mister Benhira into 's temporary baroush, an' 'e sez: ' What 'ave you been a doin' of, Sahibs?' sez 'e. Learoyd 'e caught 'im by the ear an' 'e sez


"Ah says," went on Learoyd: "Young mon, that mon's gooin' to have't goons out o' Thursday - kul-an' thot's more work for you, young mon. Now, sitha, tak a tat an' a lookri,

an' ride tha domdest to t' Padsahi Jhil. Cotch thot there hekka, and tell t' driver iv your lingo thot you've coom to tak' his place. T' Sahib doesn't speak t' bat, an' he's a little mon. Drive t' hekka into t' Padsahi Jhil into t' watter. Leave t' Sahib theer an' roon hoam; an here's a rupee for tha.""


Then Mulvaney and Ortheris spoke together in alternate fragments: Mulvaney leading [You must pick out the two speakers as best you can.]:-"He was a knowin' little divil was Bhuldoo, 'e sez bote achee an' cuts - wid a wink in his oi - but Hi sez there's money to be made an' I want to see the end av the campaign - so Hi says we'll double hout to the Padsahi Jhil and save the little man from bein' dacoited by the murtherin' Bhuldoo-an' turn hup like reskoors in a Ryle Victoria Theayter Melodrama-so we doubled for the jhil, an’ prisintly there was the divil of a hurroosh behind us an' three bhoys on grasscuts' tats come by, pounding along for the dear life s'elp me Bob, hif Buldoo 'adn't raised a regular harmy of decoits to do the job in shtile. An' we ran, an' they ran, shplittin' with laughin', till we gets near the jhil — and 'ears sounds of distress floatin' molloncally on the heavenin' hair." [Ortheris was growing poetical under the influence of the beer. The duet recommenced; Mulvaney leading again.]

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"Thin we heard Bhuldoo, the dacoit, shoutin' to the hekka man, an' wan of the young divils brought his lakri down on the top av the hekka-cover, an' Benira Thrigg inside howled ‘Murther an' Death.' Bhuldoo takes the reins and dhrives like mad for the jhil, havin' dishpersed the hekka-dhriver—'oo cum up to us an' 'e sez, sezie: That Sahib's nigh gawbry with funk! Wot devil's work 'ave you led me into?' 'Hall right,' sez we, you puckrow that there pony an' come along. This Sahib's been decoited, an' we're going to risky 'im!' Says the driver: 'Decoits! Wot decoits? That's Buldoo the budmash'. 'Bhuldoo be shot!' sez we. 'Tis a woild dissolute Pathan frum the hills. There's about eight av 'im coercin' the Sahib. You remimber that an' you'll get another rupee'! Then we heard the whop-whop-whop av the hekka turnin' over, an' a splash av water an' the voice av Benira Thrigg callin' upon God to forgive his sins-an' Buldoo an' 'is friends squotterin' in the water like boys in the Serpentine."

Here the three Musketeers retired simultaneously into the


"Well? What came next?" said I.

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"Fwhat nex'?" answered Mulvaney, wiping his mouth. "Wud you let three bould sodger-bhoys lave the ornamint av the House av Lords to be dhrowned an' dacoited in a jhil? We formed line av quarther-column an' we desinded upon the inimy. For the better part av tin minutes you could not hear yerself spake. The tattoo was screamin' in chune wid Benira Thrigg an' Bhuldoo's army, an' the shticks was whistlin' roun' the hekka, an' Orth'ris was beatin' the hekka-cover wid his fistes, an' Learoyd yellin':-'Look out for their knives!' an' me cuttin' into the dark, right an' lef', dishpersin' arrmy corps av Pathans. Holy Mother av Moses! 'twas more disp'rit than Ahmid Kheyl wid Maiwund thrown in. Afther a while Bhuldoo in' his bhoys flees. Have ye iver seen a rale live Lord thryin' to hide his nobility undher a fut an' a haf av brown jhil wather. 'Tis the livin' image av a bhisti's mussick wid the shivers. It tuk toime to pershuade me frind Benira he was not disimbowiled: an' more toime to get out the hekka. The dhriver came up afther the battle, swearin' he tuk a hand in repulsin' the inimy. Benira was sick wid the fear. We escorted him back, very slow, to cantonmints, for that an' the chill to soak into him. It suk! Glory be to the Rigimintil Saint, but it suk to the marrow av Lord Benira Thrigg! Here Ortheris, slowly, with immense pride: -"'E sez: "You har my noble preservers,' sez 'e. You har a honor to the British Harmy,' sez 'e. With that 'e describes the hawful band of decoits wot set on 'im. There was about forty of 'em an' 'e was hoverpowered by numbers, so 'e was; but 'e never lost 'is presence of mind, so 'e didn't. 'E guv the hekka-driver five rupees for 'is noble hassistance, an' 'e said 'e would see to us after 'e 'ad spoken to the Kernul. For we was a honor to the Regiment, we was."


"An' we three," said Mulvaney, with a seraphic smile, “have dhrawn the par-ti-cu-lar attinshin av Bobs Bahandur more than wanst. But he's a rale good little man is Bobs. Go on, Orth'ris, me son."

"Then we leaves 'im at the Kernul's 'ouse, werry sick, an' we cuts over to B Comp'ny barrack an' we sez we 'ave saved Benira from a bloody doom, an' the chances was agin there bein' p'raid on Thursday. About ten minutes later come three envelicks, one for each of us. S'elp me Bob, if the old bloke 'adn't guy us a fiver apiece sixty-four dibs in the bazaar! On Thursday 'e was in 'orspital recoverin' from 'is

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sanguinary encounter with a gang of Pathans, an' B Comp'ny was drinkin' 'emselves inter clink by squads. So there never was no Thursday p'raid. But the Kernul, when 'e 'eard of our galliant conduct, 'e sez: Hi know there's been some devilry somewheres,' sez 'e, but hi can't bring it 'ome to you three.'

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"An' my privit imprisshin is," said Mulvaney, getting off the bar and turning his glass upside down, "that av they had known they wudn't have brought ut home. 'Tis flyin' in the face, firstly av Nature, second, av the Rig'lations, an' third, the will av Terence Mulvaney, to hold p'rades av Thursdays."

"Good, ma son!" said Learoyd; "but, young mon, what's t' notebook for?"

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"Let be," said Mulvaney; "this time next month we're in the Sherapis. 'Tis immortial fame the gentleman's goin' to give us. But kape it dhark till we're out av the range av me little frind Bobs Bahadur."

And I have obeyed Mulvaney's order.

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SHAKSPEARE says something about worms, or it may be giants or beetles, turning if you tread on them too severely. The safest plan is never to tread on a worm-not even on the last new subaltern from Home, with his buttons hardly out of their tissue paper, and the red of sappy English beef in his cheeks. This is the story of the worm that turned. For the sake of brevity, we will call Henry Augustus Ramsay Faizanne, "The Worm," although he really was an exceedingly pretty boy, without a hair on his face, and with a waist like a girl's, when he came out to the second "Shikarris" and was made unhappy in several ways. "The Shikarris are a high-caste regiment, and you must be able to do things well-play a banjo, or ride more than little, or sing, or act to get on with them.

The Worm did nothing except fall off his pony, and knock chips out of gate-posts with his trap. Even that became monotonous after a time. He objected to whist, cut the cloth at billiards, sang out of tune, kept very much to himself, and wrote to his Mamma and sisters at Home. Four of these five things were vices which the "Shikarris" objected to and set

mselves to eradicate. Everyone knows how subalterns are,

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