Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodge where
he had--but only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said or how many
waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morning saw Bobby at the
Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the last waltz still in his
ears, and an intoxication due neither to wine nor waltzing in his brain.
"Good man!" shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery, through the mists. "Whar
you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow! But I've had a head and a half.
I didn't sit out all night. They say the Battery's awful bad," and he hummed
dolorously--
Leave the what at the what's-its-name,
Leave the flock without shelter,
Leave the corpse uninterred,
Leave the bride at the altar!
"My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. Jump
in, Bobby. Get on, Coachman!"
On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing the latest
news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby learned the real
condition of the Tail Twisters.
"They went into camp," said an elderly Major recalled from the whist-tables at
Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, "they went into camp with two hundred
and ten sick in carts.
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