"Pf! pf!" blew Major Burnaby, as he entered the room. "Glad that's over for the day at any rate. You've got the young scamp in hand, I see, Corney. Tom, untwizzle that ringer; I must tub before I do anything else."
Tom looked up to where his uncle was pointing, above his head, and saw the wire of an electric bell twisted round a bracket on the wall. He got up and pressed the button, and the major-domo appeared.
"Tub, Saladin," said the major. "And look here, this is my nephew; put him up a bed and do him well."
"All right, sah! all same for one," returned the negro cheerfully.
In a few moments the major could be heard splashing and gasping in the next room, and ere long he returned in mufti, looking cool and comfortable in a suit of white ducks and a silk cummerbund. He asked the doctor to stay to dinner, and Tom sat listening eagerly to his seniors' conversation, and admiring his uncle's thorough grasp of even the minutest details of the expedition.
It was to set out, he learned, in three or four days' time, some three hundred and fifty strong, from Port Florence, and was to cross the Nyanza in steam launches. The only Europeans besides the major and Dr. O'Brien were Captain Lister and a subaltern, the non-commissioned officers being trustworthy Soudanese. Their objective was the village of a petty chief, about a hundred and fifty miles west of the Nyanza, who had revolted against British authority, and in concert with the remnants of an old Arab slave-dealing gang had raided his more peaceful neighbours. In the course of subsequent proceedings he had treacherously killed a British officer, and a punitive expedition became inevitable. The greater part of the military forces of the Protectorate were engaged in police work on the north-eastern frontier; but they were hastily recalled, and within a month, thanks to Major Burnaby's energy, the punitive column was ready to start. The stores for the expedition were collected at rail-head, and the major had been very busy day and night in getting them up from the coast, and seeing that everything possible, to the smallest detail, was done to secure the safety and success of the column.
After the doctor had gone, the major sat for some minutes silently puffing his pipe, while Tom nervously turned over the leaves of a month-old copy of the Times. At length the major laid down his pipe, cleared his throat, and began:
"Look here, Tom, few words are best. I suppose you realize by this time that you did a very foolish thing in coming out. What's more, it was a very inconsiderate thing. Here am I, with my hands full, toiling day and night to straighten things out,--and you must come and complicate matters just as I'm driving in the last peg, and without a moment's warning; in fact, making an attempt to force my hand! It was silly, it was wrong, to say nothing of the waste of time when you ought to be working at your profession, and the waste of money which you know as well as I do you can't afford. There'd be a glimmer of excuse, perhaps, if I could make any use of you, and I'd stretch a point to do so; but it's entirely out of the question. I can't find any reason, not even a pretence of one, for bringing you in. There is really nothing for you to do. So there is no help for it, and, as you can't possibly stay here, and are bound to go back, you may as well go at once. If you really and seriously think of choosing Africa for your career, there'll be plenty of time to talk about that when you've finished your training; and we can go into it when I get home."
The major relit his pipe, and hid his sympathetic features behind a cloud of smoke. After a moment Tom said quietly:
"I'm sorry, Uncle. I didn't see it from that point of view. I was an ass. I'll go home and do my best."