So the next evening, having carefully taken the bearings of our valley in miniature the day before, I went over after work hours. When I came on the level at the bottom, I found that quite a large wood slab shed had been erected at one end of the little bit of greensward. As I crossed towards it the familiar sound of really good clog dancing met my ears accompanying a rollicking baritone voice that was singing the refrain of a patter song:
"Kick an' 'ammer away at their shins,
Silly old dribblers as cole' cream their skins,
Barkin', lurkin', shirkin' Gherkins,
Give 'em a crush and a rush for their sins,
Yoicks! hey forward!!!--the Sicki wins."
A perfect bellow of applause was following as I opened the slab door and walked in. There was a regular stage at the end of the shed, and on it stood Tim Flanigan, bowing his acknowledgments to an audience of squatting Sikhs with much dignity. A flimsy muslin overcoat partially hid his massive muscles and he was garlanded with flowers like a prize ox at a show. He did not notice me at first, and began a speech in true music hall style, his hand on his heart:
"My kyind patrons, an' you Gintlemen of the Press, it is with the hutmost diffidence that I roise to drink me own 'elth, you, gintlemen, bein' by birth and descent tay totallers, which is better by a long chalk than being answered for by godfathers an' godmothers at your baptism. Gintlemen, I have but a few wurrds to say, so I will not detain you. Since I come 'ere--I mean since the woise decrays of a koindly Providence brought me to the wilderness, I 'ave endeavoured to do my dooty by you, an' I done it. Gintlemen! you are a credit to me. There ain't a 'ole skin amongst the lot of your shins. Gintlemen! it is a thing to be proud of. It makes the tear come to my watery heyes an' sends the life blood to the tip of my nose. I tell you, gintlemen, that if any of thim officer chaps were to step in this moment----" Here his eye caught mine. The change was instantaneous, and he brought himself up to the salute smartly.
"Beg pardon, sir," he went on, without the least sign of embarrassment. "Havin' bin h'absent without leave, sir, this fortnight past through being kidnapped outrageous, I 'as to report myself."
I mustered up what gravity I could, for his attitude of respectful and disciplined attention was excruciatingly funny in contrast with his costume--or rather the lack of it.
"Private Flanigan," I said. "Have done with tomfoolery. How the devil do you come here?"
"I didn't come, sir," he replied volubly. "I was brought, s'help me Moses. I was kidnapped outrageous, as I said, by them Sickies, same as seethin' it in its mother's milk. I was, entirely, sir--sure the bla'gards won't deny it."
Here, havildar Sunt Singh, who understood English, broke in rapidly in Hindustani. "He speaks truth, Huzoor. He did not come of himself. He was brought hither when he was without consciousness."
"From drink, I suppose?" I asked severely.