"Now please go
away. I need my beauty nap."
An hour later, he was roused by a sharp reversal of his normal
position. When he became fully awake, he was lying in a pool of
water in the middle of the hut, and Weldon was in possession of the
blankets and bag.
"What's the row?" he asked thickly. "I'm a Canadian, out here
shooting Boers. Oh, I say!" And he was on his feet, saluting the man
at Weldon's side.
"The only bag in the squadron, Captain Frazer," Weldon was
explaining. "The blankets are quite dry. Roll yourself up, and you
will be warm in a few minutes."
Carew surveyed the transfer with merry, impartial eyes.
"Well, I like that," he said, when the Captain's yellow head was all
that was visible above the encircling cocoon. "I thought you said
that you preferred to catch cold from your own wetness, Weldon. I
was merely damp; this man is a sponge."
Before Weldon could answer, the yellow head turned, and the blue
eyes looked up into Carew's eyes laughingly.
"Merely one of the privileges of rank, Carew," the Captain observed
as dryly as if he had not risen from his warm bed to swim the river
and walk a mile in the darkness and the downpour, in order to see
how the new boys were getting on.
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