“Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in the open.”
“For this reason even the mules go up in the iron-train.”
“Iron what?”
“It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.”
“An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.”
“And I go up with my mules tonight. Only those who particularly require to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far from the city.”
“The dears—they always used to!” Dick snuffed the smell of parched dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old life was welcoming him back most generously.
“When I have got my mules together I go up tonight, but you must first send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.”
“Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had the chance?”
“I have no chance,” said the Greek. “She is there with that woman.”