“‘E was a flower,” said Henry Withers of the Sick Horse Depot.
“A floower in front garden!” ironically responded Holgate, the Yorkshire
engineer, as he lay on his back on the lower deck of the Osiris, waiting
for Fielding Pasha’s orders to steam up the river.
“‘E was the bloomin’ flower of the flock,” said Henry Withers, with
a cross between a yawn and a sigh, and refusing to notice Holgate’s
sarcasm.
“Aw’ve heerd on ‘em, the floowers o’ the flock--they coom to a bad end
mostwise in Yorkshire--nipped in t’ bood loike! Was tha friend nipped
untimely?”
“I’d give a bloomin’ camomile to know!”
“Deserted or summat?”
“Ow yus, ‘e deserted--to Khartoum,” answered Withers with a sneer.
“The ‘owlin’ sneak went in ‘idin’ with Gordon at Khartoum!”
“Aye, aw’ve heerd o’ Gordon a bit,” said Holgate dubiously, intent to
further anger the Beetle, as Henry Withers was called.
“Ow yus, ow verily yus! An’ y’ve ‘eard o’ Julius Caesar, an’
Nebucha’nezzar, an’ Florence Noightingyle, ‘aven’t you--you wich is
chiefly bellyband and gullet.”
“Aye, aw’ve eaten too mooch to-day,” rejoined Holgate placidly, refusing
to see insult. “Aw don’t see what tha friend was doin’ at Khartoum wi’
Goordon.”
“‘E was makin’ Perry Davis’ Pain Killer for them at ‘ome who wouldn’t
send Gordon ‘elp when the ‘eathen was at ‘is doors a ‘underd to one. ‘E
was makin’ it for them to soothe their bloomin’ pains an’ sorrers when
Gordon an’ Macnamara ‘ad cried ‘elp! for the lawst toime!”
“Aw’ve taken off ma hat to Goordon’s nevvy-he be a fine man-head for
macheens he has”-Holgate’s eyes dwelt on his engine lovingly; “but aw’ve
heerd nowt o’ Macnamara-never nowt o’ him. Who was Macnamara?”
“‘E was the bloomin’ flower of the flock-’e was my pal as took service
in the Leave-me-alone-to-die Regiment at Khartoum.”
“Aw’ve never read o’ Macnamara. Dost think tha’ll ever know how he
went?”
“I ain’t sayin’ ‘as ‘e went, an’ I ain’t thinkin’ as ‘e went. I’m
waitin’ like a bloomin’ telegarpher at the end of a wire. ‘E was the
pick o’ fifteen ‘underd men was Macnamara.”
“What sent t’ laad to Goordon?”
“A-talkin’ of ‘isself silly to two lydies at onct.”
“Aye, theer’s the floower o’ the flock. Breakin’ hearts an’ spoilin’
lives--aw’ve seen them floowers bloomin’.”
“‘E didn’t break no witherin’ ‘earts, an’ ‘e didn’t spoil no lives. The
lydies was both married afore Macnamara got as far as Wady Halfar. ‘E
break ‘earts--not much! ‘E went to Khartoum to be quiet.”
“Aw’m pityin’ the laads that married them lasses.”
“‘Ere, keep your bloomin’ pity. I wuz one. An’ if your pity’s ‘urtin’
yer, think of ‘im as ‘adn’t no wife nor kid to say when ‘e’s dead, ‘Poor
Peter Macnamara, ‘e is gone.”’
“A good job too, aw’m thinkin’.”
“An’ a bloornin’ ‘ard ‘eart y’ ‘ave. Wantin’ of a man to die without
leavin’ ‘is mark--‘is bleedin’ ‘all mark on the world. I ‘ave two--two
kids I ‘ave; an’ so ‘elp me Gawd, things bein’ as they are, I wouldn’t
say nothin’ if one of ‘em was Macnamara’s--wich it ain’t--no fear!”
“Was Macnamara here you wouldn’t say thaat to his faace, aw’m thinkin’.”
“I’d break ‘is ‘ulkin’ neck first. I ain’t puttin’ these things on the
‘oardins, an’ I ain’t thinkin’ ‘em, if ‘ee’s alive in the clutches
of the ‘eathen Kalifer at Homdurman. There’s them as says ‘e is,
an’ there’s them as says ‘e was cut down after Gordon. But it’s only
Gawd-forsaken Arabs as says it, an’ they’ll lie wichever way you want
‘em.”
“Aye, laad, but what be great foolks doin’ at Cairo? They be sendin’
goold for Slatin an’ Ohrwalder by sooch-like heathen as lie to you. If
Macnamara be alive, what be Macnamara doin’? An’ what be Wingate an’
Kitchener an’ great foolks at Cairo doin’?”
“They’re sayin’, ‘Macnamara, ‘oos ‘e? ‘E ain’t no class. ‘Oo wants
Macnamara!’”
Holgate raised himself on his elbow, a look of interest in his face,
which he tried to disguise. “See, laad,” he said, “why does tha not send
messenger thaself--a troosty messenger?”
“‘Ere, do you think I’m a bloomin’ Crosus? I’ve done the trick twice-ten
pounds o’ loot once, an’ ten golden shillin’s another. Bloomin’ thieves
both of ‘em--said they wuz goin’ to Homdurman, and didn’t not much! But
one of ‘em went to ‘eaven with cholery, an’ one is livin’ yet with a
crooked leg, with is less than I wuz workin’ for.”
Holgate was sitting bolt upright now. “Didst tha save them ten sooverins
to get news o’ Macnamara, laad?”
“Think I bloomin’ well looted ‘em--go to ‘ell!” said Henry Withers of
the Sick Horse Depot, and left the lower deck of the Osiris in a fit of
sudden anger.