“What about, sir?”
“What they are saying about us at the Residency. I suppose they will give us the credit of not deserting.”
“Course they will, sir. They will be saying that we are lying speared somewhere not far from headquarters. My word, sir, won’t Mrs Morley take on about losing you, sir! And, oh dear! nobody won’t miss me—except old Tipsy. Haw, haw, haw! He’d like to have me to bully-rag when he gets back to headquarters again.”
“Will nobody else miss you, Pete?”
“No, sir—I d’know, though. Yes—old Mother Smithers, next time she has a chance to have a turn at the wash-tub. It will be, ‘Now, Pete, fresh water, please.’ Wish she’d got some of what’s in this precious boat! Talk about a leaky sieve! Why, it’s coming in everywhere. We shall have to begin baling soon, Mister Archie. To be sure; that will be next job after I’ve rubbed up the gun, and— This ’ere ain’t a fruit-tree, is it, sir?”
“Absurd!”
“Suppose it is, sir. I was thinking of cocoa-nuts and getting one down to bale with. I shall have to use my cap. It’s wonderful how it’s stuck on. I ketched it slipping off twice, though, when we were creeping through the wood.”
Peter reached for the gun, and began to rub the barrels with such leaves as he could pick; but after trying to polish for some time, he shook his head in despair.
“Only making it worse, sir.—I say, Mister Archie, you are not going to sleep, are you?”
Archie, who was resting one hand on the side of the boat and bending down sideways, rose quickly.