patiently
Much Ado About Nothing
To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.
Henry VIII
The next matter of interest lay in the return of the camel men. They came into camp unexpectedly, and Ralph, who was lunching with us, called out to me in my tent that a civilised looking “oont-wallah” (camel-man) wanted to speak to me. There indeed stood one of the men who had gone off to Berbera by the shortest possible route for supplies. He was to have met us farther on, but we had delayed our departure so much longer than had been planned; we were not, of course, to be found at the arranged rendezvous. So, very sensibly, the small caravan came on to find us. The man gave me particulars of his stewardship, and handed me a bundle of letters, and some ancient Daily Wails and other newspapers. The whole lot seemed out of place. Letters and papers are for those who live in the humming world of men. We considered ourselves dead and buried to it, We wished we had been in very truth after opening some of the communications. “Another little bill,” Cecily said, handing me a quarter yard long sheet.
There were letters from our old shikari uncle, full of advice, kindly doubts, and a few sharp digs. But his rapiers always had great big buttons on, so did not hurt us as he lunged. Sooner, I know, would he have broken his weapon across his knee.
All Suburbia was announcing, through the columns of the Morning Post, that marriages had been arranged for them. Who does all this “arranging”? Nobody ever “arranges” a marriage for me. I often look hopefully to see. I suppose if you come on it “arranged,” however unpleasant it may be to you, there is nothing to be done but see the thing through. A quaint business! Really quite on the lines of the Stone Age, when a furry suitor would arrange with the furry father to exchange the furry daughter for a couple of rabbits.