Doone.—Which reminds me. My quarters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is, one can't do anything to a roof till the Rains are over.
Curtiss.—What's wrong with you? You haven't eighty rotting Tommies to take into a running stream.
Doone.—No; but I'm a compost of boils and bad language. I'm a regular Job all over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see any chance of getting richer—either way.
Blayne.—Can't you take leave?
Doone.—That's the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight. I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gaddy, whoever his wife may be.
Curtiss.—You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of.
Doone.—Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a woman to share my life out here.
Blayne.—On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. The woman's an absolute wreck.
Doone.—Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months—and the same with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms.
Mackesy.—With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be little Dehra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie accent to bring home for the holidays.
Doone.—Yes, it's an enchanting prospect. By the way, the rupee hasn't done falling yet. The time will come when we shall think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our pay.
Curtiss.—Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement? That's what I want to know.
Blayne.—The Silver Question! I'm going to bed if
