"You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune," Torpenhow said to the
Nilghai. "It's never touched except by you."
"A piece of gross extravagance," Dick grunted. "The Nilghai only comes when I'm
out."
"That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear."
"The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, His writings are watered
Dickens and water; But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high Makes even the
Mahdieh glad to die!"
Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book.
"How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?"
The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many Press-tents
in far-off lands had known.
"What shall I sing?" said he, turning in the chair.
""Moll Roe in the Morning,"" said Torpenhow, at a venture.
"No," said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old chanty
whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not a pretty one, but
Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. Without prelude he
launched into that stately tune that calls together and troubles the hearts of
the gipsies of the sea--
"Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, ladies
of Spain."
Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the Barralong
crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross.
Pages:
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992