"Humphries, sir?"
Bland was again surprised.
"Yes, Humphries. And tell Corporal Savage to remind him of our compact; also, that the arrest will be a real service—to me, personally. Humphries will understand."
VIII
The night turned out dark, with scurrying clouds, a rising wind and, now and then, a spatter of rain. The Marquis passed out of the barrack-gate with a cheery word to the sentry and trudged off to town.
He had received his orders that afternoon. He knew exactly what was expected of him. He knew—could he ever forget?—exactly what was meant by 'our compact.' He also knew what the C.O. meant by 'a real service—to me personally.' He had not witnessed the Prophet's attacks for nothing. And he was buoyed up with hope and gratitude and determined to show the C.O. that he had not been merciful in vain.
He got into town and walked steadily through the almost deserted streets. The wooden houses loomed up, damnably cheerless, murky lights glowing dimly from their windows. Some of them, with their pitiful imitation second-storey fronts, reminded him of would-be gentlemen wearing 'dickies.' Now and then doors opened and he heard the tinkle of out-of-tune pianos, the coarse jesting of men. The wretched cow-ponies, tails to wind, reins trailing, waited miserably for their masters. Suddenly the utter squalor, the primitive uncouthness of Broncho, which its citizens considered equal to any old-world capital, came violently home to him and his spirits bumped down to zero.
A drunken remittance man came reeling from a saloon, singing a maudlin strain with 'Piccadilly' for its theme. A stupendous longing touched him, for London, dear old London, and all it meant; his people, his——; and for a moment he saw himself as he had once been—a carefree man about town—in contrast with what he was—an exile, an exiled gentleman-ranker, one of the Lost Legion.
No, by Jove,—not lost! The C.O.'s interest in him was like a light in the universal darkness. He was going to prove himself, make himself, tonight!
Passing the Golden West Café, he felt an impulse to go in and talk to Nellie. She was a good-hearted little thing. But he put the thought aside. He regretted, now, that he had played the fool with women—making a game of a serious matter—So he walked on.