"Ain't your bloke married, Mickey?" said another servant, for a moment stopping hissing at a boot and holding it up for contemplation, his hand acting as boot tree, "Wot's 'e done with 'is own lawful box of bricks?"
"I dunno, Simmy, and that's a fact," answered Murphy; "'e ain't 'ad no letter from Lucy since 'e come back. It's my belief she's needled and given 'im the bag—she would do straight if she saw them letters of Stara's. 'Strewth, them letters!" he added reflectively.
"What's in the letters, Mickey?"
"Never you mind, Simmy; that ain't no business of yours. A bloke's letters is 'is own, 'is servant's different, of course."
"'E's a rum 'un, is 'Ector," said Penrose. "Did you blokes 'ear of the turn up between 'im and Tim Molloy yesterday? Tim was up before him for using disrespectful langwidge to the room corporal, and 'Ector was a dressing of 'im down—'e can throw it abaat too can 'Ector—when Tim loses 'is 'air, and ups and tells 'im 'e wouldn't talk to 'im like that if so be 'e weren't an orfcer and 'im a private. And 'Ector 'e larfs and stops the Sergeant-Major wot was calling for a file to take Tim to the guard-room. 'Ho, wouldn't I?' 'e says, like that, and 'im and Tim goes orf together to the sick lines, when 'e orfs with 'is coat and the two of 'em go at it, the Sergeant-Major keeping the time; and 'Ector 'as Tim outed in the second round! Larf fit to bust theirselves did the squadron win they sees Molloy's eye and 'Ector's ear."
"Didn't 'e wear mourning whin 'is cat died, Mickey?"
"Wot abaat 'is looting of the commissariat godown whin the dinners was stinking?"
"An' the lifting of them cabbages off Botha's farm to teach the men scoutin'? 'See without being seen,' 'e says, as 'e pulls 'em up. Ho! ho!"
"Botha was a Dutchman, an' 'ostile to the English," answered Murphy, "and as such 'is cabbages was liable to be pinched. But I ain't goin' to stop 'ere jawing no longer. 'Send this tallygram at once,' the bloke says, 'if not sooner,' 'e says. 'Ere Tomkins," to Graeme's second servant, who was sitting on a iron bed-cot nursing a cat, "nip up to the stable and fetch the chestnut 'orse, while I change my costoom," and thereupon Murphy retired to his room, where he proceeded to transform himself into as near a representation of his master as the state of his wardrobe allowed.
Having oiled his hair and fastened his collar with an imitation gold safety-pin, he mounted the horse and rode away on his mission. He proceeded at a walking pace till he was well clear of the barracks, but on reaching the hard high road he shook the old horse up, and at a good sharp gallop made his way to the telegraph office.