THE SMITHY & NOBBY COLLECTION: 6 Novels & 90+ Stories in One Edition. Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ sez the Adjutant.

      Suddenly Nobby lets out a yell.

      “‘Guard, turn out,’ ‘e shouts, an’ out come the guard with a run.

      “‘Wot’s up?’ sez the sergeant of the guard.

      “‘Present arms!’ sez Nobby, ‘to the Adjutant’s new baby,’ ‘e sez.”

2. Military Motoring

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      “What’LL be the badge for that?” asked Smithy

      We were talking of the new course of military motoring that is contemplated.

      “Cross’ guns for marksman, cross’ flags for signaller, cross’ swords for instructor, cross’ choppers for pioneer,” mused Smithy.

      “Cross pedestrians for military chauffeur,” said I humorously.

      “Cross corpses, if I know anything about it,” said Smithy pessimistically. “Some of the chaps I know who are goin’ in for motorin’ I wouldn’t trust with a clockwork p’rambulator.”

      “As you say,” I began. “There—”

      “Let alone motorcars,” interrupted Smithy gloomily.

      “Of course there are—”

      “Let alone bloomin’ motorcars,” repeated Smithy, with a knowing nod of his head.

      “I suppose,” he went on, “you don’t happen to know Spud Murphy, of ‘B’ — he’s doin’ duty now, but he used to be groom-of-the-chambers to Major What’s-his-name?”

      I know hundreds of Spud Murphys; but I could not recall this particular one.

      “You wouldn’t think,” said Smithy, impressively, that a tineyed rooster with four years’ service, a low down cellar-flapper from Islington that joined the Army to get away from the police, would ‘ave the neck to apply for a job as shover to a choof-choof?”

      “I should imagine,” I remarked gently, “that the position of chauffeur requires—”

      “Well,” went on the indignant Smithy, “this unmentionable person did. You know Uncle Bill?”

      I owned up to an acquaintance with that very kindly young officer, Captain Umfreville, of Smithy’s battalion.

      “Uncle Bill,” said the irreverent soldier, “is one of the widest chaps in the regiment. There was a man in town who was agent for all kinds of motorcars, but the one he was most fond of was a little thing he invented hisself. A four-’orsepower machine with bicycle wheels. He called it the ‘Ravin’ Jupiter,’ and it was one of them runaway-and-play-whilst-papa-mends-the-carburator sort of machines.

      “Well, Uncle Bill turns up in barrack one day as large as life, sittin’ in a sort of bassinette and steam roller combined. He’d bought a ‘Ravin’ Jupiter,’ and, what’s more, he’d got it cheap.

      “People used to larf, especially when it hurt somebody; but Uncle Bill knew a thing or two.

      “A week afterwards he turned up with a ninety-’orsepower Little Nipper, or Nipper Minor, or something of the sort.

      “His ‘Ravin’ Jupiter’ had gone wrong, and while it was bein’ righted the maker had lent him this car.

      “I can tell you,” said Smithy, with a reminiscent grin, “that old Uncle Bill didn’t use that ‘Ravin’ Jupiter’ three times a year; mostly he was cuttin’ round the country in the Nipper, or a Damyer, or a Poosher, wot was lent him while the ‘Ravin’ ‘ car was gettin’ a new inside.

      The artfulness of Captain Umfreville caused Smithy a few minutes’ amusement.

      Then he returned with a scowl to the enormities of the miserable Spud Murphy.

      “Spud comes to me one day an’ sez, ‘I’m goin’ to be Bill’s shover.’

      “‘Bill’s how much?’ I sez.

      “‘Bill’s choofer,’ he sez.

      “‘Wot do you know about motorcars?’ I sez.

      “‘E larfs. ‘Never you mind,’ e sez; ‘I’ve driv’ an ingin before now,’ ‘e sez.

      “‘Beer ingin?’ I sez.

      “‘No,’ e sez, ‘a real ingin at a sawmills.’

      “So Spud got his job,” Smithy went on, “an’ for a week he was messin’ about the parade ground doin’ fancy work, with Uncle Bill sittin’ by his side givin’ instructions.

      “We used to sit outside the canteen and watch him and the officer.

      “‘E used to play on the thing with his ‘ands and feet, and the tunes ‘e got out of it was extr’ord’nary. Bill was a wonderful instructor.

      “‘Mark time on that blanky clutch,’ he’d yell, and Spud would put his foot on the brake-pedal.

      “‘The other foot, you soor,’ Bill’d shout, he ‘avin’ been in India with the other battalion.

      “‘‘Arf right!’ And Spud would give the steerin’-wheel a yank to the left, an’ the language of the captain was a disgrace to his company.

      “I tell you Spud perspired, but he persevered, too, and used to work in little bits he learnt at the sawmill, and one day he comes up to me as pleased as Punch, an’ waves a bit o’ blue paper.

      “‘I’ve got me licence,’ he sez.

      “‘O,’ sez Nobby Clark — a caution, he is—’I suppose they’ll let you out without a chain now,’ ‘e sez.

      “‘Don’t you be funny,’ sez Spud; ‘I’m a licensed shover.’

      “‘What’s that?’ I sez. ‘French for beer-can boy at a sawmills?’

      “Well, right enough, about a week after, me and a couple of chaps was walkin’ out in the country — it was a Sunday — when we ‘eard a motorcar comin’ up behind.

      “‘Hoomp ! Hoomp ! Hoomp!’

      “Then, like a flash of dirty lightnin’, somethin’ dashed past in a cloud of dust, and there was me and the other chaps covered all over with muck, and a smell in the air like a paraffin stove.

      “Bimeby,” resumed Smithy, “we comes up with a motorcar pulled up at the side of a road with somebody crawlin’ underneath.

      “‘There’s only one man in the world that takes fourteen boots,’ sez Nobby, ‘and СКАЧАТЬ