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Part IIA PRIVATE`S HONOR
I had not seen Mulledwiney for several days. Knowing the man--this looked bad. So I dropped in on the Colonel. I found him in deep thought. This looked bad, too, for old Cockey Wax--as he was known to everybody in the Hill districts but himself--wasn`t given to thinking. I guessed the cause and told him so. "Yes," he said wearily, "you are right! It`s the old story. Mulledwiney, Bleareyed, and Otherwise are at it again,--drink followed by Clink. Even now two corporals and a private are sitting on Mulledwiney`s head to keep him quiet, and Bleareyed is chained to an elephant." "Perhaps," I suggested, "you are unnecessarily severe." "Do you really think so? Thank you so much! I am always glad to have a civilian`s opinion on military matters--and vice versa--it broadens one so! And yet--am I severe? I am willing, for instance, to overlook their raid upon a native village, and the ransom they demanded for a native inspector! I have overlooked their taking the horses out of my carriage for their own use. I am content also to believe that my fowls meekly succumb to jungle fever and cholera. But there are some things I cannot ignore. The carrying off of the great god Vishnu from the Sacred Shrine at Ducidbad by The Three for the sake of the priceless opals in its eyes"-- "But I never heard of THAT," I interrupted eagerly. "Tell me." "Ah!" said the Colonel playfully, "that--as you so often and so amusingly say--is `Another Story`! Yet I would have overlooked the theft of the opals if they had not substituted two of the Queen`s regimental buttons for the eyes of the god. This, while it did not deceive the ignorant priests, had a deep political and racial significance. You are aware, of course, that the great mutiny was occasioned by the issue of cartridges to the native troops greased with hog`s fat--forbidden by their religion." "But these three men could themselves alone quell a mutiny," I replied. The Colonel grasped my hand warmly. "Thank you. So they could. I never thought of that." He looked relieved. For all that, he presently passed his hand over his forehead and nervously chewed his cheroot. "There is something else," I said. "You are right. There is. It is a secret. Promise me it shall go no further--than the Press? Nay, swear that you will KEEP it for the Press!" "I promise." "Thank you SO much. It is a matter of my own and Mulledwiney`s. The fact is, we have had a PERSONAL difficulty." He paused, glanced around him, and continued in a low, agitated voice: "Yesterday I came upon him as he was sitting leaning against the barrack wall. In a spirit of playfulness--mere playfulness, I assure you, sir--I poked him lightly in the shoulder with my stick, saying `Boo!` He turned--and I shall never forget the look he gave me." "Good heavens!" I gasped, "you touched--absolutely TOUCHED-- Mulledwiney?" "Yes," he said hurriedly, "I knew what you would say; it was against the Queen`s Regulations--and--there was his sensitive nature which shrinks from even a harsh word; but I did it, and of course he has me in his power." "And you have touched him?" I repeated,--"touched his private honor!" "Yes! But I shall atone for it! I have already arranged with him that we shall have it out between ourselves alone, in the jungle, stripped to the buff, with our fists--Queensberry rules! I haven`t fought since I stood up against Spinks Major--you remember old Spinks, now of the Bombay Offensibles?--at Eton." And the old boy pluckily bared his skinny arm. "It may be serious," I said. "I have thought of that. I have a wife, several children, and an aged parent in England. If I fall, they must never know. You must invent a story for them. I have thought of cholera, but that is played out; you know we have already tried it on The Boy who was Thrown Away. Invent something quiet, peaceable and respectable--as far removed from fighting as possible. What do you say to measles?" "Not half bad," I returned. "Measles let it be, then! Say I caught it from Wee Willie Winkie. You do not think it too incredible?" he added timidly. "Not more than YOUR story," I said. He grasped my hand, struggling violently with his emotion. Then he struggled with me--and I left hurriedly. Poor old boy! The funeral was well attended, however, and no one knew the truth, not even myself.
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