E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 02 (22 page)

"Feel equal to a cigarette? It will buck you up, Bunny. No,
that one in the silver paper, I've hoarded it for this. Here's a
light; and so Bunny takes the Sullivan! All honor to the
sporting rabbit!"

"At least I went over like one," said I, sending the only clouds
into the blue, and chiefly wishing for their longer endurance.
I was as hot as a cinder from my head to one foot; the other leg
was ceasing to belong to me.

"Wait a bit," says Raffles, puckering; "there's a gray felt hat
at deep long-on, and I want to add it to the bag for vengeance.
. . . Wait—yes—no, no luck! I must pitch 'em up a bit more.
Hallo! Magazine empty. How goes the Sullivan, Bunny? Rum to be
smoking one on the veldt with a hole in your leg!"

"It's doing me good," I said, and I believe it was. But Raffles
lay looking at me as he lightened his bandolier.

"Do you remember," he said softly, "the day we first began to
think about the war? I can see the pink, misty river light, and
feel the first bite there was in the air when one stood about;
don't you wish we had either here! 'Orful slorter, orful
slorter;' that fellow's face, I see it too; and here we have the
thing he cried. Can you believe it's only six months ago?"

"Yes," I sighed, enjoying the thought of that afternoon less than
he did; "yes, we were slow to catch fire at first."

"Too slow," he said quickly.

"But when we did catch," I went on, wishing we never had, "we
soon burnt up."

"And then went out," laughed Raffles gayly. He was loaded up
again. "Another over at the gray felt hat," said he; "by Jove,
though, I believe he's having an over at me!"

"I wish you'd be careful," I urged. "I heard it too."

"My dear Bunny, it's on the knees you wot of. If anything's down
in the specifications surely that is. Besides—that was nearer!"

"To you?"

"No, to him. Poor devil, he has his specifications too; it's
comforting to think that. . . . I can't see where that one
pitched; it may have been a wide; and it's very nearly the end of
the over again. Feeling worse, Bunny?"

"No, I've only closed my eyes. Go on talking."

"It was I who let you in for this," he said, at his bandolier
again.

"No, I'm glad I came out."

And I believe I still was, in a way; for it WAS rather fine to be
wounded, just then, with the pain growing less; but the sensation
was not to last me many minutes, and I can truthfully say that I
have never felt it since.

"Ah, but you haven't had such a good time as I have!"

"Perhaps not."

Had his voice vibrated, or had I imagined it? Pain-waves and
loss of blood were playing tricks with my senses; now they were
quite dull, and my leg alive and throbbing; now I had no leg at
all, but more than all my ordinary senses in every other part of
me. And the devil's orchestra was playing all the time, and all
around me, on every class of fiendish instrument, which you
have been made to hear for yourselves in every newspaper. Yet
all that I heard was Raffles talking.

"I have had a good time, Bunny."

Yes, his voice was sad; but that was all; the vibration must have
been in me.

"I know you have, old chap," said I.

"I am grateful to the General for giving me to-day. It may be
the last. Then I can only say it's been the best—by Jove!"

"What is it?"

And I opened my eyes. His were shining. I can see them now.

"Got him—got the hat! No, I'm hanged if I have; at least he
wasn't in it. The crafty cuss, he must have stuck it up on
purpose. Another over . . . scoring's slow. . . . I wonder if
he's sportsman enough to take a hint? His hat-trick's foolish.
Will he show his face if I show mine?"

I lay with closed ears and eyes. My leg had come to life again,
and the rest of me was numb.

"Bunny!"

His voice sounded higher. He must have been sitting upright.

"Well?"

But it was not well with me; that was all I thought as my lips
made the word.

"It's not only been the best time I ever had, old Bunny, but I'm
not half sure—"

Of what I can but guess; the sentence was not finished, and never
could be in this world.