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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"

"
"Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly."
The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to
Torpenhow's arm. "Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!" he said
petulantly, as he turned into the Park. "Let's curse God and die."
"Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there are the
Guards!"
Dick's figure straightened. "Let's get near "em. Let's go in and look. Let"s
get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees."
"Mind the low railing. That's all right!" Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of grass
with his heel. "Smell that," he said. "Isn't it good?" Dick sniffed
luxuriously. "Now pick up your feet and run." They approached as near to the
regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made Dick's
nostrils quiver.
"Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!" He edged forward as though he could
see. "I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?"
"They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins."
"Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!--
nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!--one half-
minute!"
He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the slings
tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from the ground.


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