Leaves from a Field Note-Book by John Hartman Morgan
page 42 of 229 (18%)
page 42 of 229 (18%)
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than ever, but I thought I'd have it in black and white; so I saluted
and said, 'Bad memory, sir, my old wound in India, d'you mind writing the order down?'" "My dear B----," I interrupted, "you know you've the memory of a Recording Angel." "So I do, my son, and so I did. Also I knew that Macassey's memory, like that of most fussy men, was as bad as mine was good. I thought I'd catch him out sooner or later. He and I went round the camp, and, after about half-an-hour of the most putrid crabbing, he suddenly caught sight of some double-roofed Indian tents that Simpson had got together with great difficulty for the worst cases. You see we'd mostly tin huts, and in the African heat they're beastly. 'Ah, I see,' said Macassey wickedly. 'I see you have some good double-roofed tents here; let me have eight of them sent to me to-morrow night.' That left us with four, and how we were to shift the patients was a problem. 'Very good, sir,' I said, 'but I may forget the number. D'you mind?' And I held out my Field Note-book, having turned over the page." (There are not many people who can say 'No' to B----.) "He didn't mind, So he wrote it down. Naturally I took care of those pages. Next day old Macassey must have remembered that he had issued two contradictory orders in the same day. Ordered me to expand and contract at the same time, like the third ventricle. And he knew that I had first-class documentary evidence, and that I guarded his autographs as though I were going to put 'em up for sale at Sotheby's. He never troubled us any more." "That was unkind of you, Major," I said insincerely. "Not so, my son. You see, I knew he'd been worrying old Simpson, and he |
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