He'll be the boy I kicked out of
camp once. Maybe remembers it too. I'll bet his backbone's twanging
yet! Lead me to him, Grim, old cock, I'd like another piece of him!"
But Grim was humming to himself, playing piano on the bed-sheet with his
fingers.
"Is that man not an Arab?" asked the fellow in bed, taking alarm all
over again.
"Arab your aunt!" laughed Jeremy: "I eat Arabs! I'm the only original
genuine woolly bad man from way back! I'm the plumber who pulled the
plug out of Arabia! You know English? Good! You know what a dose of
salts is then? You've seen it work? Experienced it, maybe? Hah!
You'll understand me. I'm a grain of the Epsom Salt that went through
Beersheba, time the Turks had all the booze in sight and we were
thirsty. Muddy booze it was too--oozy booze--not fit for washing hogs!
Ever heard of Anzacs? Well, I'm one of 'em. Now you know what the
scorpion who stung you's up against! You lie there and think about it,
cocky; I'll show you his shirt tomorrow morning."
"Suppose we go now," suggested Grim. "I've got the drift of this thing.
Get the rest elsewhere."
"You can fan that Joskins for a lot more yet," Jeremy objected.
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