Volume 158 — DEMOBBED.

"I'm goin' home," said Hennessey, "for I've been East too long; I want the English hedges an' fields an' the English thrush's song, An' the honest English faces an' never nobody black; It's home for mine," said Hennessey, "so it's down your tents and pack. It'll pass out here For a month or a year, But not for a lifetime—no dam fear. I want my folks," said Hennessey, "an' I'm jolly well goin' back." But I said, "Home's gone different an' I've somehow lost the touch, An' nobody's written for fifty years, so they're not worryin' much; An' I like it here; I love it." Says Hennessey, "Well, I'm shot! Would ye die an' be buried in India?" "Well, Natty," says I, "why not?" "East Africa, then," said Hennessey; "it's a promisin' place is that— Money to make an' jobs galore, easy an' rich an' fat; An' think of the ridin' an' shootin' an' the camp an' the trekkin' too; You've no ties," said Hennessey; "it's the place for a chap like you. There's a grand career For a pioneer, Which is more than ever you'll see out here. East Africa's it," said Hennessey, "if the half they say is true." But I said, "Blow East Africa an' slavin' yourself all day; I'm an idle man—bone idle—with a little bit saved away, An' I like them palm-tree beaches an' the warm blue sunlit sea; East India, yes, an' welcome, but East Africa—no, not me." "Well, Palestine," said Hennessey; but I cut him short and sweet, An' "Natty," I said, "I've heard it all an' I don't want to repeat— Jerusalem or Mombasa, Tahiti or Timbuctoo, Or careers an' pioneerin' an' the rest of it all—nah poo! It's no good, Nat, For I tell you flat I've cottoned to India an' that's just that; Bus hogeva; all done—finish; I'm here till the trees turn blue, For I love them early mornings, shiny an' clear an' grey, An' I love the cool o' the evening when the temple drummers play, An' the long, long, lazy afternoons, when the whole creation sleeps— Quit it? Old man, I couldn't; I'm India's now for keeps. "So Hennessey, you go home," I says, "an' see to the wife an' kid." "You'll follow me there one day," says he, an' I says, "Heaven forbid! I'll just be goin' about an' about an' keepin' an open mind An' sometimes doin' a job o' work, but not if I'm not inclined; An' I won't care If I'm here or there, Jungle or forest or feast or fair; I'll take it all as it comes along, as the Maker o' things designed; I'll tramp it North to the Kashmir hills an' South to the Nilgiris; I'll find my friends as I find my fun—and that's where I dam well please; An' never no saman or houses or taxes or servants to send things wrong." "It wouldn't suit me," said Hennessey. "It wouldn't," says I. "So long!"