Gil the Gunner: The Youngest Officer in the East — John Shaqi
Gil the Gunner: The Youngest Officer in the EastFenn, George Manville
General
Gil the Gunner: The Youngest Officer in the East
Fenn, George Manville
Great Britain. Army -- Colonial forces -- India -- Juvenile fiction; Young men -- Juvenile fiction
"Go on with your breakfast, boy," cried Brace, with a good-humoured
laugh. "Disgraced! You, a mere calf in just learning your drill. If
you had been in the troop for four or five years, and made such a
blunder, why, it would have been rather disgraceful; but for you! Why,
we are quite proud of the rapid way you are picking up the evolutions."
"No: you are saying that to comfort me," I cried bitterly.
"I have a good many faults, Vincent," he said quietly; "but I don't
think insincerity is one of them. If I say a thing to you, my lad,
pleasant or unpleasant, you may take it for granted that I believe it to
be honest and true."
"But the major? What he said to me before all the men was dreadful."
"Not at all. He was bound to say it. He might have spoken less
harshly; but--wonderful!--here he is."
For just then I nearly jumped out of my chair on hearing the major's
voice asking for Captain Brace, and the next moment he had stridden into
the room.
"How nice and cool you are here," he said. "Ah, Vincent, my lad, feel a
bit sore after our gallop?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, gloomily, as the major seated himself at the
table, helped himself to coffee and curry, and began to eat.
"You'll soon get over that. It's rough work at first; but use is second
nature. I say, that's a very pretty little nag of yours; rather slight,
but quite up to your weight. She gallops splendidly. Here, I'm
regularly breakfasting. I wanted to have a few words with you, so I
came over, as my wife was not down."
"Shall I go, sir?" I said, rising.
"No, no, my dear boy; sit still."
I stared. Not an hour before he was bullying me fiercely before the
whole troop.
Brace saw my face, and laughed.
"Vincent is in the doldrums," he said.
"What about?" grumbled the major, with his mouth full of curry.
"You asked him if he was sore. He is: about the thrashing you gave him
this morning."
"Bah! nonsense! Good lesson for you, boy. You won't make that mistake
again. You are getting on capitally. Wish we had a couple more of your
breed."
"There, Vincent," said Brace; "what do you say now?"
I could not say anything, only feel as if the morning had suddenly
become bright and joyous; and I began to make a wonderful breakfast;
while the major chatted over a few matters connected with the discipline
of the troop and the behaviour of some of the men.
"Well," said Brace, as soon as the major had gone; for he jumped up
suddenly on receiving a message from his own quarters, leaving his
half-eaten curry and a newly filled cup of coffee.
"The general down," he cried. "Bring Vincent over this evening for an
hour or two."
"Well," said Brace, "how are the spirits now?"
"Oh, better," I said, smiling; "but I do wish I was more clever."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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