“Of course he will. We’ve often discussed contingencies, though not such an unlooked-for one as this. Oh, he’ll have made that all right.”
That evening a surprise awaited. There was a sound of voices outside. The wicker-slab that constituted the door of their hut was pushed, and an English voice called out.
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
“Why Parry, of course you can,” cried Elvesdon, promptly undoing the fastenings. “How are you? Glad to have you back again. We’ve been trying all we knew to make them let you come back to us, but for some reason they wouldn’t. Have some skoff. We’re half through ours. Well, it’ll be an invaluable experience to you afterwards.”
“Thanks, Mr Elvesdon. You’re awfully good,” answered the young fellow. “I don’t know. I thought I was afraid of nothing—but somehow these black devils with their beastly spears, threatening to stick you for a couple of days and nights, rather saps your nerves, especially when you’re all alone, and can’t talk to them either. I’ve been in the roughest scrimmages at football and never knew what it was to funk, but somehow now—I don’t know—I’ve expected to be stuck ever since they lugged me away two nights ago.”
“Oh, they won’t do that or they’d have done it before,” answered Elvesdon cheerily, though his cheerfulness was more than half-affected. “Fact is you’ve been reading too much William Charles Scully, and Ernest Glanville, and these other Johnnies who write up the noble savage within an inch of his life. You’ve taken an overdose of them and of him. Here—have some of this tywala: I’ve managed to raise some at last: the stingy devils began with us on water. That’s right. Now fall to.”
The boy did so, nothing loath, and soon his spirits revived: he was not more than twenty-one, and accustomed to a gregarious life, wherefore the solitary confinement had told upon him.
“Light your pipe,” said Elvesdon, when they had done. “We needn’t stand on etiquette now. We’re all fellow-prisoners. By George, I’ve sent a good many into that condition in course of duty, but never thought to become a prisoner myself. Funny, isn’t it?”
The boy laughed. Elvesdon could see that his first estimate was correct, that he was a ‘gentleman ranker’ and was not long in drawing from him, with his usual tact and acumen, all his simple family history. He was the son of a country vicar, and had had a great ambition towards the army, but lack of means, as usual, stepped in, and he had turned to a colonial Mounted Police force as many and many another likewise circumstanced had done.
“Well Parry, I shall make it my business to see that you don’t lose anything by your behaviour the other day,” said Elvesdon, “if my word is good for anything. You carried out your orders to the letter, and that as sharp as sharp could be.”