“Well, bleedin’ ‘Ell,” Mulvaney said, you know what I damn well mean!”
Learoyd rolled his eyes.
“Perhaps you gentlemen could be of some assistance,” Lucas said. “Where might I find a Hindustani attendant for myself and Miss Cross on the march?”
Before anyone could reply, a thin, bedraggled young Hindu dressed in nothing save a dhoti and a turban leaped up from where he had been crouching in a dim corner like a dog and came running up to stand bowing before Lucas.
“Father Sahib wishes khawasin? I am good khawasin! Work very hard! Very cheap! Serve very well! Take good care of Father Sahib and Memsahib!”
‘Well, it seems we have a volunteer,” said Lucas.
“You could do better than him, Father,” said Learoyd. “He wouldn’t be your best choice. He’s an untouchable, you see. Outside the caste system. None of the other Hindus would have anythin’ to do with him. Poor beggar wouldn’t have any company on the march at all, no one to talk to.”
“He could talk to us,” said Andre.
“Any reason why we can’t take him?” said Lucas.
“The choice is yours, Father,” said Learoyd.
“Good. It’s settled, then.”
The Hindu dropped to his knees and began kissing Lucas’s boots, intermingling English thankyous with a torrent of Hindi.
“Come on now, up with you, Din!” said Mulvaney, hauling him to his feet. “That’s no way to act before a proper Englishman! ‘E’s a priest, not no bleedin’ rajah!”
“Well, you bought yourself a faithful hound, Father,” said Learoyd. “His name is Gunga Din and he speaks English, after a fashion. Nice enough chap, though a bit childlike, like most of his sort. He followed the regiment here all the way from Simla. He’s been a sort of unofficial regimental bhisti, but I guess he’s yours now.”
“Is that all he has to wear?” said Lucas.
“It’s all ’e’s got, period,” said Mulvaney. “Not ‘ardly equipped for a march to Chitral, ‘e ain’t.”
“Well, we shall have to do something about that,” said Lucas. “We’ll have to send him to the quartermaster to get properly equipped and to get some decent clothing.”
Din’s face lit up. “Uniform, Father Sahib? Din be good soldier with uniform!”
“Soldier?” said Mulvaney, while Din shrank back from him.
“Why not?” said Lucas.
“Why not, indeed?” said Ortheris. “Just send ‘im over to the quartermaster and tell ‘im to ask for a full kit and a suit of khakis. The quartermaster, kind soul that ‘e is, will comply without a moment’s ‘esitation.” The men laughed.
Din’s face took on a crestfallen expression as he saw his hopes of obtaining a khaki uniform fade as quickly as they had arisen.
“Well, now, surely if the quartermaster knew it was for me,” said Lucas, “he’d do it. After all, we can’t very well have Miss Cross being attended by a half-naked man.”
“Right,” Delaney said. “Ortheris, since you pointed out the problem, perhaps you’d be so good as to accompany Din to see the quartermaster?”
“Per’aps I will,” said Ortheris, “after I’ve done with this whiskey.”
“Now, Ortheris,” said Delaney.
Ortheris scowled. “I knew it was too good to last,” he said. “Sooner or later an officer’s bound to start actin’ like an officer. Come on then, Din. We’ll go an’ get you your soldier suit.”
He left with the joyful Gunga Din in tow. Learoyd smiled. “I’d say you made yourself a friend for life there, Father.”
“From what I hear about where we’re going, I’d say I could use all the friends I can get,” said Lucas. “Tell me, Private Mulvaney—“
“Just plain ol’ Mulvaney, Father. Everyone calls me that.”