Then he went off to see about his supper, of
newly slaughtered goat-chops and chupatties baked in ghee. His soul
revolted at the thought of it, but it was his duty to eat it and set
an example to the men; and duty was the only thing that mattered
in Bill Brown's scheme of things.
"Maybe it's true," he muttered, "and maybe it's all lies; there's
no knowing. Maybe India's going to run blood, as these fakirs seem
to think, and maybe it isn't. There'll be more blood shed than mine
in that case! `Hookum hai'--`It is orders,' heh ? Well--there's
more than one sort of `Hookum hai!' I've got my orders too!"
He doubled the guard, when supper bad been eaten and the guardroom
had been swept and the pots and kettle had been burnished until they
shone. Then he tossed a chupatty to the imprisoned fakir, spat again
from sheer disgust, lit his pipe and went and sat where he could hear
the footbeats of the sentries.
"They can't help their religion," he muttered. "The poor infidels
don't know no better. And they've got a right to think what they
please `about me or the Company.
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