English fiction -- 20th century; English poetry -- 20th century; Short stories, English; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
“‘You obey orders,’ ’e says, ‘an’ next time I ask you what you’re
thinkin’ about you’ll answer, “_Tilniz an’ trap-doors_,” in a smart
and soldierly manner. I’ll spring that question at me own time. All
you’ve got to do is to be distinck.’
“We settled all this while we was skinnin’ spuds for dinner at the
back o’ the rear-truck under our camouflage-screens. Gawd, ’ow that
glue-paint did stink! Otherwise, ’twasn’t so bad, with the sun comin’
through our pantomime-leaves, an’ the wind marcelling the grasses
in the cutting. Well, one thing leading to another, nothin’ further
’appened in this direction till the afternoon. We ’ad a high standard
o’ livin’ in Mess--an’ in the Group, for that matter. I was takin’ away
Mosse’s lunch--dinner ’e would never call it--an’ Mosse was fillin’
’is cigarette-case previous to the afternoon’s duty. Macklin, in the
passage, comin’ in as if ’e didn’t know Mosse was there, slings ’is
question at me, an’ I give the countersign in a low but quite distinck
voice, makin’ as if I ’adn’t seen Mosse. Mosse looked at me through and
through, with his cigarette-case in his ’and. Then ’e jerks out ’arf a
dozen--best Turkish--on the table an’ exits. I pinched ’em an’ divvied
with Macklin.
“‘You see ’ow it works,’ says Macklin. ‘Could you ’ave invested a
Bradbury to better advantage?’
“‘So far, no,’ I says. ‘Otherwise, though, if they start provin’ an’
tryin’ me, I’m a dead bird. There must be a lot more to this Janeite
game.’
“’Eaps an’ ’eaps,’ he says. ‘But to show you the sort of ’eart I
’ave, I’ll communicate you all the ’Igher Degrees among the Janeites,
includin’ the Charges, for another Bradbury; but you’ll ’ave to work,
Dobbin.’”
“’Pretty free with your Bradburys, wasn’t you?” Anthony grunted
disapprovingly.
“What odds? _Ac-tually_, Gander told us, we couldn’t expect to av’rage
more than six weeks’ longer apiece, an’, any’ow, _I_ never regretted
it. But make no mistake--the preparation was somethin’ cruel. In the
first place, I come under Macklin for direct instruction _re_ Jane.”
“Oh! Jane _was_ real, then?” Anthony glanced for an instant at me as he
put the question. “I couldn’t quite make that out.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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