"These cards are gettin' precious ragged; you'd better get 'em clipped."—"Why don't you play the king?"—"'Cause there ain't one! he's one of 'em as is lost."
"You used to have fine times, I reckon, when you and Mr. Valentine and the young ladies came to stay at Miss Fenleigh's," said Crouch. "I wonder what she'd say if she knew you was out here in Egypt."
"I took precious good care she shouldn't know. I suppose she heard from the guv'nor that I went off and enlisted, but I didn't send word what regiment I joined. I never mean to see her again—no fear!"
"She was a kind lady," murmured Joe reflectively; "very good to me once upon a time."
"Yes, that she was—the best and kindest woman in the world; and that's just the reason why I'm glad to think she doesn't know what's become of me.— Hallo, Swabs, what are you after?"
The person thus addressed was a gaunt, lanky-looking warrior, clad simply in helmet, shirt, and trousers; the sleeves of his "greyback" were rolled up above his elbows; and he was armed with a roughly-made catapult, evidently intended for the destruction of some of the small, brightly-coloured birds that were flitting about among the branches of the palms. "Swabs," who answered at roll-call to the name of Smith H., in addition to holding the badge as best shot in the regiment, was a popular character in C Company.
"Shist!" he answered; "when there ain't nothink better to shoot at, I'm goin' to try me 'and on some of these dickies."
"Swabs" was evidently more skilful with the rifle than with his present weapon. He discharged his pebble, but with no result.
"Miss; high right," said Jack. "Where did you get your elastic from?"
"The tube of me filter. I'll take a finer sight next time," and "Swabs" went stalking off in search of further sport.