Tom heaved a sigh as he turned away.
"Well, well, that's over," said Mr. Barkworth, walking with Lilian by his side. "We haven't seen much of you, sir, since we came up on Monday. Never fear, your uncle will pull it off. I remember, now, at Calcutta, a year or two ago, he said to me: 'Barkworth, I'm going downhill fast. Here am I at forty-six the wretchedest dog in the service, with nothing but half-pay and idleness in front of me.' 'Cheer up,' said I, 'you'll get your chance. There is a tide in the affairs of men, you know. You'll be a K.C.B. yet.' I knew it, h'm!"
"I'd give anything to have gone too," said Tom.
Lilian looked amazed and shocked.
"Why, Mr. Burnaby, you might get killed!" she said.
Tom laughed.
"I'd chance that. Besides, I might not. Anyhow, it's better to be killed striking a blow for England than to peg out with pneumonia in a four-poster, or die of a brick off a chimney."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Barkworth. "Pure fudge! Gordon said something of the same sort to me once; I knew him--a sort of forty-eleventh cousin. 'Barkworth,' he said, 'Heaven is as near the hot desert as the cool church at home.' Now I'm what they call a globe-trotter, through this restless girl of mine here, and I tell you that when my time comes I shan't rest comfortably unless I'm laid in the old churchyard at home. H'm! But this won't do. We aren't skull and crossbones yet. Come and dine with us to-night, Mr. Burnaby; seven sharp; you'll meet a padre too; one of the White Fathers, you understand. Knows every inch of the country, and speaks the language like a native--only better. Lilian stayed for a year with some friends of his in France, and we brought out a letter of introduction. A fine fellow, this White Father--no white feather about him, ha! ha! You take me, eh! Well, then, we'll see you at seven. Mind you--seven sharp!"
CHAPTER II: Mbutu
Mbutu--Hatching a Plot--The Padre--A Consultation