“Yes, Pete; rather a change from England. But it is very beautiful, and I like it.”
“Well, yes, sir; that’s right enough. So do I like it. I often think it would be just lovely if old Ripsy would get down with the fever. My word! what would he be like when Dr Morley had done with him, and he began to crawl about and use his cane to help him hobble, instead of being so jolly handy with it in his fashion?”
“Peter Pegg, that’s a nasty, revengeful way of talking.”
“Is it, sir?” said the young private, giving himself a twist, as if in recollection of a tap with the cane.
“Yes. You don’t mean to tell me that you wish Sergeant Ripsy would catch this nasty jungle fever?”
“No, sir, I don’t want to tell you; but I do.”
“I don’t believe you, Pete. The Sergeant’s a fine soldier and a brave man, and I honestly believe that he thinks he is doing his duty.”
“Oh, he’s brave enough, I dare say. So are you, sir.”
“Bosh!”
“So am I, sir.”