' Revere was still
absorbed in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was
sternly fond of Bobby, continued ' 'E generally goes down there
when 'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say
that the more lush in-he-briated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They
call 'im the Looney Fishmonger in the Comp'ny, sir.'
Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated.
'It's a filthy amusement,' sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to
Revere: 'Are you really worried about Dormer?'
'A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to hospital, or
drunk enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up,
brooding and sulking as he does. He resents any interest being
shown in him, and the only time I took him out shooting he all but
shot me by accident.'
'I fish,' said Bobby with a wry face. 'I hire a country-boat and go
down the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer
goes with me if you can spare us both.'
'You blazing young fool!' said Revere, but his heart was full of
much more pleasant words.
Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate,
dropped down the river on Thursday morning the Private at the
bow, the Subaltern at the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the
Subaltern, who respected the reserve of the Private.
After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said 'Beg y'
pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal?'
'No,' said Bobby Wick.
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