‘It allerways makles my sleepy,’ he said apologetically, and his head was nodding already. ‘Dood night, ‘tank de Number One up aloft Sahib for my’s goody day--but my wantled dose gleeny-blown ducks baddy.’ Here he heaved a serene little sigh, and snuggled still further into the recesses of the chair. ‘My’s lost-ed,’ he murmured contentedly, as his chin fell on to his chest, and he slept. A sunbeam flitted in through the blinds on to his dusty flaxen pate. The General leant forward. ‘All serene, my young friend,’ he said softly, ‘before you wake again we’ll have that careless beggar of a _sais_ of yours by the heels, and you’ll be “losted” no more. And mark my words, Morant,’ he went on, flicking the ash off his cigar, ‘when we’re done for, and stacked with the majority, that tow-headed young budmâsh’ll be as great, ay, a greater soldier than either of us; we shan’t know it--stacked, heh?--but the country will. One of us goes, but there’s always another fellow ready to take his place, thank the Lord.’ ‘_Eke oper eke_,’ muttered Tally Ho in his dreams. THE DOLDRUMS ‘The breeze would have savéd him, you know,’ said the mate. Out of a cloudless sky, Into a sapphire sea, To the tune of a windless sigh, That is drawn in the tops’les three, The sun sinks fast thro’ a burning haze To the heart of the sapphire sea. Over the shadowed deep, Topped with an oily swell, To the hours of the night asleep In the chime of her muffled bell The spent ship prays--and her spirit fails, On the heave of the sullen swell. * * * * * Fanning the crimson flare Lit by the coming dawn, Thro’ the hush in the breathless air Of the night that is past and gone, The wind speeds swift to the weary sails, In a song of the coming morn. But away from the stifled ship, Fleeter than any wind, With a kiss on the twisted lip Of the face that she leaves behind, A breath steals forth--and the wind but plays On a mask that is left behind. Six bells clanged the dawning of the last hour in the midnight watch. I dropped my cards, for it was the peculiar custom to stop whist just as the bell sounded. ‘Time up!’ said the Captain regretfully, mopping his brow, ‘How do we stand, Jenny?’ His wife’s voice--‘Eight and three eleven, and four’--rose in a vinegary triumph of addition from across the saloon table, to culminate in an emphatic ‘Fifteen points.’ ‘Good! I rather think that’s the best night yet, sir.--Bed, Jenny. Good-night, gentlemen. A hot night, an’t it?’ ‘Good-night, Captain! Good-night, Mrs Cape! Coming on deck, Jaques?’ ‘No!’ said my partner, ‘bed for this child, g’night;’ and murmuring a disgusted ‘Fifteen points--and the vinegar--and the heat--phew!’ he shut his cabin door with a jerk.