The man grinned. “Lieutenant’s licking his syce, sir, for being dirty.”
“Oh!” I said; and I was about to turn away, when the man said respectfully—
“Beg pardon, sir; you don’t know me again.”
“No,” I said, looking at the man in a puzzled way. “Yes, of course; you are Denny. I did not expect to find you here. How are you?”
“Nicely, sir, thank ye. I was picked with two more to enter this troop. Very glad, sir, you are appointed to it.”
“Thank you, Denny,” I said. “It is pleasant to see the same faces.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” continued the man eagerly. “I oughtn’t to talk like this, perhaps, but I got a letter from London yesterday, and she’s all right, and ain’t no worse for being pretty nigh drowned; and she said if ever I see the young gent as saved her life, as she’d always pray for him that he might live long and die happy.”
“Oh, don’t talk about it, Denny,” I said hastily. “Thank you. That door where the syces are with the horses?”
“Don’t stand sulking there, you black-looking scoundrel. It won’t do with me; I’ll cut it out of you.”
There was the sound of more blows, and then, as I nearly reached the doorway, where the native servants made way respectfully, I heard what was evidently the final blow, and the words, “Now get out.”