"I'd give anything to have gone too," said Tom.
"Why, Mr. Burnaby, you might get killed!" she said.
"I'd chance that. Besides, I might not. Anyhow, it's better to be killed striking a blow for England than to peg out with pneumonia in a four-poster, or die of a brick off a chimney."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Barkworth. "Pure fudge! Gordon said something of the same sort to me once; I knew him--a sort of forty-eleventh cousin. 'Barkworth,' he said, 'Heaven is as near the hot desert as the cool church at home.' Now I'm what they call a globe-trotter, through this restless girl of mine here, and I tell you that when my time comes I shan't rest comfortably unless I'm laid in the old churchyard at home. H'm! But this won't do. We aren't skull and crossbones yet. Come and dine with us to-night, Mr. Burnaby; seven sharp; you'll meet a padre too; one of the White Fathers, you understand. Knows every inch of the country, and speaks the language like a native--only better. Lilian stayed for a year with some friends of his in France, and we brought out a letter of introduction. A fine fellow, this White Father--no white feather about him, ha! ha! You take me, eh! Well, then, we'll see you at seven. Mind you--seven sharp!"
Mbutu--Hatching a Plot--The Padre--A Consultation
The sun had set, and Tom was sitting in his uncle's bungalow, ruminating. He had changed his clothes in preparation for dining with Mr. Barkworth; but there was still nearly an hour to spare, so he sat back in his chair with his hands in his pockets and stared at his toes. In a few more hours he would be jolting down to Mombasa. There was no getting over that. He pictured his uncle penetrating the forest at the head of his men; the cautious advance; the first sight of the enemy. He heard in imagination the rattle of musketry, and the major's ringing voice giving orders and cheering the combatants. And while these stirring events were in progress, he himself was to be condemned to inactivity on a passenger steamer! Tom was hit harder than he had believed.
Sitting brooding on these things, and feeling the reaction doubly after the excitement of the past few days, he suddenly became fully conscious of a sensation that had for some time been creeping over him unawares. He felt that he was not alone, that someone was looking at him. There was no one with him in the room, he knew; no one in the bungalow even, except the grave, silent Indian servant, who was the only member of the household left behind.