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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"


"But you're looking tucked up," he concluded.
"Got anything to eat?" said Dick, his eye roaming round the room.
"I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?"
"No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed horse-
flesh for thirty days and thirty nights."
"Now, what lunacy has been your latest?"
Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened his
coat; there was no waistcoat below. "I ran it fine, awfully fine, but I've just
scraped through."
"You haven't much sense, but you've got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and talk
afterwards." Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could gorge no
more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men smoke who for
three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco.
"Ouf!" said he. "That's heavenly! Well?"
"Why in the world didn't you come to me?"
"Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of
superstition that this temporary starvation--that's what it was, and it hurt--
would bring me luck later. It's over and done with now, and none of the
syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What's the exact state of affairs
as regards myself?"
"You had my wire? You've caught on here.


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