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Page 7
Redmond made a gesture of exasperation. "Ah-h! come off the perch!" he
snarled pettishly, "what sort of old 'batman's' gaff are you trying to
'get my goat' with?"
His display of irritation drew an explosive, misthievous cachinnation
from the trio.
"Old 'batman's' gaff?" echoed the Cockney grinning, "orl right, my fresh
cove--this time next week you'll be tellin' us wevver it's old 'batman's'
gaff, or not."
Outside, the blizzard still moaned and beat upon the windows, packing the
wind-driven snow in huge drifts about the big main building. Inside, the
canteen roared--
"_Then--I--say, boys! who's for a drink with me?
Rum, tum! tiddledy-um! we'll have a fair old spree!_"
McSporran slid off his cot with surprising alacrity. "Here's ane!" he
announced blithely. Hardy, carefully hanging up his spotless, glossy
equipment at the head of his cot, turned to the farrier who was likewise
engaged in arranging a bridle and a pipe-clayed headrope.
"Wot abaht it, Mac?" he queried briskly.
McCullough, in turn looked at Redmond. "All right!" responded that young
gentleman with a boyish shrug and grin, "come on then, you bloomin' old
sponges! let's wet my transfer. I'll have time to pack my kit to-morrow,
before the West-bound pulls out."
Upon their departing ears, grown wearily familiar to its
monotonous repetition, fell the parrot's customary adieu, as that
disreputable-looking bird swung rhythmically to and fro on its perch.
"Goo' bye!" it gabbled, "A soldier's farewell' to yeh! goo' bye! goo'
bye!"
CHAPTER II
_Homeless, ragged and tanned,
Under the changeful sky;
Who so free in the land?
Who so contented as I?_.
THE VAGABOND
The long-drawn-out, sweet notes of "Reveille" rang out in the frosty
dawn. Reg. No. ---- Const George Redmond, engaged at that moment in
pulling on his "fatigue-slacks" hummed the trumpet-call's time-honoured
vocal parody--
"_I sold a cow, I sold a cow, an' bought a donk-ee--'
Oh--what--a silly old sot you were_!"
The room buzzed like a drowsy hive with hastily dressing men. Breathing
hotly on the frosted window-pane next his cot, George rubbed a clear
patch and glued his eye to it. The blizzard had died out during the
night leaving the snow-drifted landscape frosty, still and clear. A
rapidly widening strip of blended rose and pale turquoise on the eastern
horizon gave promise of a fine day.
He turned away with a contented sigh and, descending the stairs, fell in
with the rest of the fur-coated, moccasined men on "Morning Stable
Parade."
Three hours later, breakfast despatched, blankets rolled and kit and
dunnage bags packed, he received a curt summons from the sergeant-major
to attend the Orderly-room. To the brisk word of command he was
"quick-_marched_" "left-_wheeled_," and "halted" at "attention" before
the desk of the Officer Commanding L. Division.
"Constable Redmond, Sir!" announced the deep-throated, rumbling bass of
the sergeant-major; and for some seconds George gazed at the silvery hair
and wide bowed shoulders of the seated figure in front of him, who
continued his perusal of some type-written sheets of foolscap, as if
unaware of any interruption. Elsewhere have the kindly personality and
eccentricities of Captain Richard Bargrave been described; "but that," as
Kipling says, "is another story."
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