"Of course not," said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returned to barracks and Bobby to Mess.
"He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think," said Bobby. "My aunt, but he's a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean 'them muchly fish with 'is thumbs'?"
"Anyhow," said Revere three weeks later, "he's doing his best to keep his things clean."
When the Spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months.
"As good a boy as I want," said Revere, the admiring skipper.
"The best of the batch," said the Adjutant to the Colonel. "Keep back that young skrimshanker Porkiss, Sir, and let Revere make him sit up."
So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin-box of gorgeous raiment.
"Son of Wick—old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear," said the aged men.
"What a nice boy!" said the matrons and the maids.
"First-class place, Simla. Oh, ri—ipping!" said Bobby Wick and ordered new cord breeches on the strength of it.
"We're in a bad way," wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two months. "Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten with it—two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells—drinking to keep off fever—and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the outside. There's rather more sickness in the out-villages than I care for, but then I'm so blistered with prickly-heat that I'm ready to hang myself. What's the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Not serious I hope? You're over young to hang millstones round your neck, and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double quick time if you attempt it."
It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a much more to be respected Commandant. The sickness in the out-villages spread, the Bazar was put out of bounds,
