“No. They’re not. Quick quick. What is it?”
“Well, the spectacle of two fellows old enough to know better, who have come all the way up here on purpose to shoot, both keenly competing as to who shall have the privilege of remaining in camp, is comical—to say the least of it.”
“Ah, I don’t believe it—” said Nesta.
“Not, eh? Well they have even gone so far as to toss for the privilege.”
“And who won?”
“Him they call Fleming. Where are you going to take him for his afternoon stroll, Nessita? I warn you we are going down the valley.”
“Then we will go up it,” laughed the girl. “Yes, I think he is the best fun of the two.”
“A pair of great sillies, both of them,” laughed Mrs Upward.
“Steady. Here comes Fleming. But you won’t see much of him. He is only remaining behind with the express object of having an afternoon snooze. Ta-ta—I’m off.”
Fleming, who was at that moment emerging from the dining tent came over to the two ladies, and throwing himself on the ground, lighted another cheroot and began to talk. He was still talking animatedly when the shooters started.