FullReads

“‘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?”