Afar in the Forest | Page 6

think he's one of Feisul's officers, although he's not in uniform-- prob'ly
on a secret mission. Suppose you go and see him? But say, watch out
for the doc on duty--he's a meddler. Tell him nothing!"
"Sure. How about Jeremy? What's the verdict?"
"What do you want done with him?"
"I want him out of reach of trouble here pending his discharge. No need
to certify him mad, is there?"
"Mad? All Australians are mad. None of us need a certificate for that.
Have you arrested him?"
"Not yet."
"Then you're too late! He's suffering from bad food and exposure. The
air of Jerusalem's bad for him, and he's liable to get pugnacious if
argued with. That runs in the blood. I order him off duty, and shall
recommend him within twenty minutes to the P.M.O. for leave of
absence at his own expense. If you know of any general who dares
override the P.M.O. I'll show you a brass hat in the wind. Come on;
d'you want to bet on it?"
"Will the P.M.O. fall?" asked Grim.
"Like a new chum off a brumby. Signs anything I shove under his nose.
Comes round to our house to eat Mabel's damper and syrup three nights
a week. You bet he'll sign it: Besides, he's white; pulled out of the
firing-line by an Australian at Gaza, and hasn't forgotten it. He'd sign
anything but checks to help an Anzac. I'll be going.
"You trot up to the slaughter-shop, Grim, and interview that Arab--Sidi
bin Something-or-Other--forget his name--he lies in number nineteen
cot on the left-hand side of the long ward, next to a Pathan who's shy
both legs. You can't mistake him. I'll write out a medical certificate for
Jeremy and follow. And say; wait a minute! What price the lot of you

eating Mabel's chow tonight at our house? We don't keep a cook, so
you won't get poisoned. That's settled; I'll tell Mabel you're coming.
Tootleloo!"
But there was a chance that the brigadier might carry resentment to the
point of sending up a provost-marshal's guard to arrest Jeremy on the
well-known principle that a bird in the hand can be strafed more easily
than one with a medical certificate. The bush was the place for our bird
until such time as the P.M.O.'s signature should adorn the necessary
piece of paper; so we three rode up in a cab together to the Sikh
hospital, and had a rare time trying to get in.
You see, there was a Sikh on guard outside, who respected nothing
under heaven but his orders. He wouldn't have known Grim in any
event, being only recently from India; Grim's uniform would have
passed him in, but he and Jeremy were still arrayed as Arabs, and my
civilian clothes entitled me in the sentry's opinion to protection lest I
commit the heinous sin of impertinence. An Arab in his eyes was as an
insect, and a white man, who consorted with such creatures, not a
person to be taken seriously.
But our friend Narayan Singh was in the hospital, enjoying the wise
veteran's prerogative of resting on full pay after his strenuous
adventures along with us at Abu Kem. There was nothing whatever the
matter with him. He recognized Grim's voice and emerged through the
front door with a milk-white smile flashing in the midst of
newly-curled black hair--dignified, immense, and full of instant
understanding.
Grim said a few words to Narayan Singh in Arabic, which so far as the
sentry was concerned wasn't a language, but Narayan Singh spoke in
turn in Punjabi, and the man just out from India began to droop like
Jonah's gourd under the old soldier's scorn.
In consequence we got a full salute with arms presented, and walked in
without having to trouble anybody in authority, Narayan Singh leading
with the air of an old-time butler showing royalty to their rooms. He
even ascertained in an aside, that the doctor of the day was busy

operating, and broke that good news with consummate tact:
"The sahibs' lightest wish is law, but if they should wish to speak with
the doctor sahib, it would be necessary to call him forth from the
surgery, where he works behind locked doors. Is it desired that I should
summon him?"
"Operation serious?" asked Grim, and neither man smiled. It was
perfect acting.
"Very, sahib. He removes the half of a sepoy's liver."
"Uh! Couldn't think of interrupting him. Too bad! Lead the way."
But we didn't enter the ward until Narayan Singh and an orderly had
placed two screens around number nineteen cot, in the way they do
when a man is dying, and had placed three chairs at the bedside
contrary to the regulations printed on the wall. Then Narayan Singh
stood on