The Lamp in the Desert | Page 2

and a single
voice made itself heard. It spoke with easy fluency to the evident
appreciation of its listeners, and when it ceased there came another
hearty cheer. Then with jokes and careless laughter the little company
of British officers began to disperse. They came forth in lounging
groups on to the steps of the mess-house, the foremost of
them--Tommy Denvers--holding the arm of his captain, who suffered

the familiarity as he suffered most things, with the utmost indifference.
None but Tommy ever attempted to get on familiar terms with Everard
Monck. He was essentially a man who stood alone. But the slim,
fair-haired young subaltern worshipped him openly and with reason.
For Monck it was who, grimly resolute, had pulled him through the
worst illness he had ever known, accomplishing by sheer force of will
what Ralston, the doctor, had failed to accomplish by any other means.
And in consequence and for all time the youngest subaltern in the mess
had become Monck's devoted adherent.
They stood together for a moment at the top of the steps while Monck,
his dark, lean face wholly unresponsive and inscrutable, took out a
cigar. The night was a wonderland of deep spaces and glittering stars.
Somewhere far away a native _tom-tom_ throbbed like the beating of a
fevered pulse, quickening spasmodically at intervals and then dying
away again into mere monotony. The air was scentless, still, and heavy.
"It's going to be deuced warm," said Tommy.
"Have a smoke?" said Monck, proffering his case.
The boy smiled with swift gratification. "Oh, thanks awfully! But it's a
shame to hurry over a good cigar, and I promised Stella to go straight
back."
"A promise is a promise," said Monck. "Have it later!" He added rather
curtly, "I'm going your way myself."
"Good!" said Tommy heartily. "But aren't you going to show at the
Club House? Aren't you going to dance?"
Monck tossed down his lighted match and set his heel on it. "I'm
keeping my dancing for to-morrow," he said. "The best man always has
more than enough of that."
Tommy made a gloomy sound that was like a groan and began to
descend the steps by his side. They walked several paces along the dim
road in silence; then quite suddenly he burst into impulsive speech.

"I'll tell you what it is, Monck!"
"I shouldn't," said Monck.
Tommy checked abruptly, looking at him oddly, uncertainly. "How do
you know what I was going to say?" he demanded.
"I don't," said Monck.
"I believe you do," said Tommy, unconvinced.
Monck blew forth a cloud of smoke and laughed in his brief, rather
grudging way. "You're getting quite clever for a child of your age," he
observed. "But don't overdo it, my son! Don't get precocious!"
Tommy's hand grasped his arm confidentially. "Monck, if I don't speak
out to someone, I shall bust! Surely you don't mind my speaking out to
you!"
"Not if there's anything to be gained by it," said Monck.
He ignored the friendly, persuasive hand on his arm, but yet in some
fashion Tommy knew that it was not unwelcome. He kept it there as he
made reply.
"There isn't. Only, you know, old chap, it does a fellow good to
unburden himself. And I'm bothered to death about this business."
"A bit late in the day, isn't it?" suggested Monck.
"Oh yes, I know; too late to do anything. But," Tommy spoke with
force, "the nearer it gets, the worse I feel. I'm downright sick about it,
and that's the truth. How would you feel, I wonder, if you knew your
one and only sister was going to marry a rotter? Would you be satisfied
to let things drift?"
Monck was silent for a space. They walked on over the dusty road with
the free swing of the conquering race. One or two 'rickshaws met them
as they went, and a woman's voice called a greeting; but though they

both responded, it scarcely served as a diversion. The silence between
them remained.
Monck spoke at last, briefly, with grim restraint. "That's rather a
sweeping assertion of yours. I shouldn't repeat it if I were you."
"It's true all the same," maintained Tommy. "You know it's true."
"I know nothing," said Monck. "I've nothing whatever against Dacre."
"You've nothing in favour of him anyway," growled Tommy.
"Nothing particular; but I presume your sister has." There was just a
hint of irony in the quiet rejoinder.
Tommy winced. "Stella! Great Scott, no! She doesn't care the toss of a
halfpenny for him. I know that now. She only accepted him because
she found herself in such a beastly anomalous position, with all the
spiteful cats of the regiment arrayed against her, treating her like a
pariah."
"Did she tell you so?" There was no