Daily camera., 1901-07-06

Z" PALS" +" |
BY G. L. Weigall.
"DY THEIR fruits shall ye know
Z: Z G Z: :: Z;

the stars through chink in the roof
between window and canvas.
1t was a very hot night, Of that
breathless, lurid deadness that makes
Malta summer II wearincss of the
flesh. Inside his tent - sturdy souls
were snoring, under their brown
| blankets, the sleep Of the just; but
| the fourteenth, Gunner Amherst, had
| been awake since Lights out" and
sleep would probably not e:sit his eyes
at all until the little bugler sounded
reyeille from the guard-room steps at
Tigne fort.
He was thinking, and perhaps there
was some excuse for the deep concen-
tration necessary for such a purpose,
for Amherst did not often indulge in
an art so purely imaginative.
The tramp Of the sentry up and
down across the square on his eternal
round, the sob Of the tide under the
sheer cliff, the call of distant siren
from ship in the grand hal Dor,
were the only sounds that broke the
stiffness of the night.
In the daytime Gunner Amherst had
no time for thought. Drills and
fatigucs, drinks in the canteen, crick-
ct or football, as the season might al
low; bathing, II further pint in the
cantccn with chum, and then Last
Post" did not leave much time in
which man might develop original
traits or even a habit Of thought, for in
his set the rcading-room was not the
fashion.
His face was puckered into a frown
| that marred the usual good temper of
| its daredevil expression. He had
some thing on his mind, and that some
| thing led HIM at last to rise from his
/ bcd-cot, and don the few clothes neces-
sary to dcccncy, quietly tiptoeing at
/ last out of the tent.
/ Keeping in the shadow of the
/ buildings, away from earshot. Of the
sentry. re skirtcd the camp till he
came out beyond the gray walls OF the
| fort above the sea. There he sat him
/ down among the short, sunhurnt stub
| BILE and sand. and barred his great chest
/ to the cool night wind of heaven that
! blew from the dread SirOcco quarter.
! My" he said, I'm battlin' it out,
l but don't come anigh the end of it.
I II Jcm takes the stripe, it's splits be-
tween him and me; there's too many
'alf Quarterns-ur the end on en-
down agcn me, to see me b!uom.n
Rombardier. Now, .jcm'll go mashin
| about with y. c. O.'s, and mayn't look
at an old pal. and as To speaking TO
me friendly Ike, why, it's all down
I in the regulations as there's a great
/ gulf between them and the likes Of
US. me in particular, as one as as a
many things down on my defaulter's
,hcc, as shouldn't be there. We've
been friends since the first day e
] iuineG-'im an me ogcther-roolies
as didn't know gun from pca-stick.
1t Was always the same afore we
/ Joined. al 'ome in the old place. II
/ there was a furrOw to be plowed, Jcm
always took first prize, though might
/ run the show pretty nigh; or piece
/ to be sung at the harvcst-humc, or n
/ holiday-uakiuE, when there was
/ choice of anyone to GO, Jem was al
WAYS chosen. But ! was never one to
/ feel Jealous like. Same as when e
| went OF with my gal, Molly Maloney-
100 could feel jealous of Jem?'
Amhcrs; paused a moment and
/ gazei at rhe sky, crisped into points
/ of yellow stars. The wash OF the sea
/ had made him melancholy, perhaps, IS
/ he was cut Of sorts. That one last
glass of beer the night before in the
canteen had been too much for "Old
I Devil-maycare," as his companions
/ called him. He leaned up against a
grey rock bowlder, and tore up tus-
I sock of grass.
/ "a. y. {. o. mayn't speak to or
dinary gunner when e pals with the
! other lot o. sarjints and their belong
ings. Don't Know as pants to do that
I though! II il was me, don't think as
'ow I'd ever chuck pal-and yet
there's a deal o pleasure in beln'
looked up to! Not as anyonell ever
look up to me-l'm bit of waster.'
There was a suspicious moisture in
the eyes Of this "bit of a wastcr. He
was not in the least romantic figure.
/ His good-lOukiug face had not the
alert expression Of influencing power
that belongs to the born non-commis-
stoned officer OF the British army. His
clothing, too. was unromantic, con-
sisting of pair of khaki trousers
and a patched vest hung on anyhow,
his feet thrust into broken canvas
bathing shoes.
He was reused by quick step on the
grass behind him, and started at once
into defiant life again. Tears would be
lasting disgrace if discovered. and
he became merely a motionless gun
ner. looking out with stiff intentness
at the far faint line of the Sicilian
coast.
''Davy! Whatever are you doing
here?"
1t was the old name, Familiarity
spoken. No one ever called him Davy
now. To his superiors he was simply
bad lot, though a good all-round
athlete; and to his companions, a fel-
low who could crack good tale, and
put away more beer than any other
fellow, too, whose one stupendous
folly was being too chummy with a
man who was on the roll for promo
ton, man who loved the reading
room, and who was in the choir at the
little Garrison Chapel, and in high
favor with the powers that be.
"Yes, Jem," he said, glbly, 81 was
just 'avin bit of toddle-thc tent
seemed chokey like. l should think
as the thermometer must be about
'undred in here
aye" said Jcm, laconically, 81 seet
you pass. | was standing at the doc
of No. Is hut, and thought as 'ow II
come and see what you was up to-
''You might get into Il row." re
turned Amherst, "and that 'ud be baC
for you just now
mo worse for me than you"
Jem set himself squarely down OF