"It's in the Soudan, as usual."
"You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton at the
feast.--Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as ever."
Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk swept
forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing press
censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the capacities of
generals,--these in language that would have horrified a trusting public,--
ranting, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the top of their voices. There
was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan at any moment. The Nilghai said
so, and it was well to be in readiness. The Keneu had telegraphed to Cairo for
horses; Cassavetti had stolen a perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would
be ordered forward, and was reading it out amid profane interruptions, and the
Keneu introduced to Dick some man unknown who would be employed as war artist
by the Central Southern Syndicate. "It's his first outing," said the Keneu.
"Give him some tips--about riding camels."
"Oh, those camels!" groaned Cassavetti. "I shall learn to ride him again, and
now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know your military
arrangement very well.
Pages:
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062