After mounting, dismounting, and re-mounting a certain number of times, the troopers learned to anticipate the camel jerks, and avoid the high pommels which rose in front and rear of the saddles, or rather to use them as aids instead of encumbrances. But it took a good deal of practice, and some were longer about falling into it than others. But they were not always at drill, though they had so much of it.
Some went in for fishing, and hooks and lines had been provided by the authorities for that purpose. But the sport was very poor, little being caught, and after trying it once or twice Kavanagh preferred to sit under the tree or in an arbour and smoke his pipe either alone or with a companion—Sergeant Barton for choice, but he was not always available. When that was the case the honest Grady would sometimes join him, and though he would rather have been left to his own thoughts, it was not in his nature to show a want of cordiality towards a good fellow who made advances to him. From the day of his enlistment Reginald Kavanagh had frankly accepted the situation, and had been careful above all things to avoid giving himself any airs of superiority.
“This is a mighty pretty spot you have fixed on, any way,” said Grady, stretching himself under the grateful shade of a palm-tree, “and reminds me of Oireland entirely!”
“It is rather like Merrion Square,” said Kavanagh, gravely; “or that perhaps combined with the Phoenix Park, with a touch of the Lakes of Killarney.”
“Sure, now, you are making fun of a poor boy! Look at that bird now! Isn’t he an illigant bird that? There’s a many of them about, and they are the best looking I have seen at all in Egypt.”
“Do they remind you of Ireland, too?” asked Kavanagh.
“Well, now, you are too hard on me.”
“Not a bit of it, it is only natural that they should, for they are called Paddy birds.”
“And is that a fact now?”
“Certainly it is. Sergeant Barton told me, and he has been some time in Egypt, and knows most of the birds and animals,” replied Kavanagh.