You can
lay your month's pay on that. Ye know his fits."
I never pretended to understand Private Ortheris; and so I did
the next best thing I left him alone.
That summer the invalids of the regiment to which my friend
belonged were ordered off to the Hills early, because the doctors
thought marching in the cool of the day would do them good. Their
route lay south to a place called Umballa, a hundred and twenty
miles or more. Then they would turn east and march up into the
hills to Kasauli or Dugshai or Subathoo. I dined with the
officers the night before they left--they were marching at five
in the morning. It was midnight when I drove into my garden, and
surprised a white figure flying over the wall.
"That man," said my butler, "has been here since nine, making
talk to that dog. He is quite mad."
I did not tell him to go away because he has been here many times
before, and because the dog-boy told me that if I told him to go
away, that great dog would immediately slay me. He did not wish
to speak to the Protector of the Poor, and he did not ask for
anything to eat or drink.
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