“Here, I don’t see anything to laugh at in that,” cried Denham, frowning. “Do you find it funny?”
“I just do, sir. Think of you talking like that to me? Why, twice over when I was in the Dragoons I was bowled over and had to go into hospital, up north there, in Egypt. Thirsty, gentlemen? I was thirsty, double thirsty, in the nasty sandy country—thirsty for want of water, and twice as thirsty to get to know how things were going on. That’s why I always come, when I’m off duty, to tell you gentlemen all I can.”
“There, Val,” cried Denham, beaming. “Didn’t I always say that old Briggs was a brick?”
“I don’t remember,” I replied.
“Well, I always meant to.—Now then, Sergeant, go ahead.”
“Nay! I don’t want to damp your spirits, sir, seeing how bad you are.”
“I’m not bad, Sergeant; neither is Moray. We’re getting better fast, and news spurs us on to get better as fast as we can. Now then, don’t make us worse by keeping us in suspense. Tell us the worst news at once.”
“That’s soon done, sir. These Doppies, as they call ’em—these Boers—shoot horribly well.”
“Yes,” sighed Denham; “they’ve had so much practice at game.”
“They’ve got so close in now, with their wagons to hide behind, that I’m blessed if it’s safe for a sentry to show his head anywhere.”