"Somebody has," I cried merrily.
"Yes," he said dolefully; "somebody has. Oh, I say, Val, you oughtn't
to have told tales like that."
"What?" I cried. "How could I help it?"
"Well, I suppose you couldn't," said my companion. "But there never was
such an unlucky beggar as I am. What did he want to come upon us just
at that moment for? Oh dear! oh dear! and I got to face him to-morrow
morning! I say, can't we do something to put it off--something to make
him forget it?"
"Impossible," I said.
"Oh, I don't know; try and think of a good dodge--a sortie, or doing
something to make the Boers come on to-night. If we had a jolly good
light he'd forget all about it, and I shouldn't hear any more about the
miserable business. Here, what can we do to make the Boers come on? I
might get killed in the set-to, and then I should escape this awful
wigging."
"Who ought to go and see the doctor now?" I said. "Who's going mad?"
"I am, I believe, old fellow; and enough to make me. It's enough to
make a fellow desert. Here, I know; I'll do something. It's all the
fault of that miserable renegade. I'll go in and half-kill him--an
insolent, insulting brute!"
Just then Denham, who was as fearless as any man in the ranks when out
with the corps, started violently in his alarm; for a hail came from
high up on the wall in the Colonel's familiar voice; and upon looking
up, there he was, glass in hand, looking down at us.
"Denham," cried the Colonel, "run to the Major. Tell him to come here
to me at once, and bring his glass."
"Yes, sir," cried my companion.--"Come with me, Val. My word! He gave
me such a turn, as the old women say; I thought he'd heard me again.
Hurrah, old fellow! there's something up, and no mistake. I shan't get
that tongue-flogging after all."