He could find none, although a black
leather apron, usually rolled up behind in order to be strapped over
baggage when required, was missing.
"Didn't see who took that apron, did you?" he asked the risaldar;
but the risaldar had not known that it was gone.
"All right, then, and thank you!" said Warrington, walking off into
the darkness bareheaded, to help the smell evaporate from his hair;
and the shay rumbled away to its appointed place, with the babu's
loin-cloth inside it on the front seat.
It need surprise nobody that Colonel Kirby found time first to go to
his bathroom. His regiment was as ready for active service at any
minute as a fire-engine should be--in that particular, India's speed
is as three to Prussia's one. The moment orders to march should come,
he would parade it in full marching order and lead it away. But there
were no orders yet; he had merely had warning.
So he sent for dog-soap and a brush, and proceeded to scour his
head. After twenty minutes of it, and ten changes of water, when he
felt that he dared face his own servant without blushing, he made
that wondering Sikh take turns at shampooing him until he could
endure the friction no longer.
"What does my head smell of now?" he demanded.
"Musk, sahib!"
"Not of dog-soap?"
"No, sahib!"
"Bring that carbolic disinfectant here!"
The servant obeyed, and Kirby mixed a lotion that would outsmell
most things.
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