And, in time to their regular foot-fall and chanting, the insensible head of the white man rolled from side to side unceasingly. . . .
Unconscious he still was when the little party entered the Base Camp, and Private Henry Hall remarked to Private John Jones:
“That there bloke’s gone West all right but ’e ain’t gone long. . . . You can see ’e’s dead becos ’is ’ead’s a waggling and you can see ’e ain’t bin dead long becos ’is ’ead’s a waggling. . . .”
And Private John Jones, addressing the speaker as Mister Bloomin’-Well Sherlock ’Olmes, desired that he would cease to chew the fat.
Steering his little convoy to the tent over which the Red Cross flew, Ali handed over his master and the cleft stick holding Major Mallery’s letter, to Captain Merstyn, R.A.M.C., and then stood by for orders.
It appeared that the Barjordan was off M’paga, that a consignment of sick and wounded was just going on board, and that Second-Lieutenant Greene could go with them. . . .
That night Bertram was conveyed out to sea in a dhow (towed by a petrol-launch from the Barjordan), taken on board that ship, and put comfortably to bed. The next night he was in hospital at Mombasa and had met Mrs. Stayne-Brooker.
* * * * *
As, thanks to excellent nursing, he very slowly returned to health and strength, Bertram began to take an increasing interest in the very charming and very beautiful woman whom he had once seen and admired at the Club, who daily took his temperature, brought his meals, administered his medicine, kept his official chart, shook up his pillows, put cooling hands upon his forehead, found him books to read, talked to him at times, attended the doctor on his daily visits, and superintended the brief labours of the Swahili youth who was ward-boy and house-maid on that floor of the hospital.
Before long, the events of the day were this lady’s visits, and, on waking, he would calculate the number of hours until she would enter his room and brighten it with her presence. He had never seen so sweet, kind, and gentle a face. It was beautiful too, even apart from its sweetness, kindness and gentleness. He was very thankful when he found himself no longer too weak to turn his head and follow her with his eyes, as she moved about the room. It was indescribably delightful to have a woman, and such a woman, about one’s sick bed—after negro servants, Indian orderlies, shenzi stretcher-bearers, and Bengali doctors. How his heart swelled with gratitude as she laid her cool hand on his forehead, or raised his head and gave him a cooling drink. . . . But how sad she looked! . . . He hated to see her putting up the mosquito-curtains that covered the big frame-work, like the skeleton of a room, in which his bed stood, and which, at night, formed a mosquito-proof room-within-a-room, and provided space for his bedside chair, table and electric-lamp, as well as for the doctor and nurse, if necessary.