said Torpenhow, and took stock of the new acquaintance. 'Do you always draw like that?'
The young man produced more sketches. 'Row on a Chinese pig-boat,' said he sententiously, showing them one after another.—' Chief mate dirked by a comprador.—Junk ashore off Hakodate.—Somali muleteer being flogged.—Star-shell bursting over camp at Berbera.—Slave-dhow being chased round Tajurrah Bay.—Soldier lying dead in the moonlight outside Suakin,—throat cut by Fuzzies.'
'H'm!' said Torpenhow, 'can't say I care for Verestchagin-and-water myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are you?'
'No. I'm amusing myself here.'
Torpenhow looked at the aching desolation of the place. 'Faith, you've queer notions of amusement. 'Got any money?'
'Enough to go on with. Look here: do you want me to do war-work?'
'I don't. My syndicate may, though. You can draw more than a little, and I don't suppose you care much what you get, do you?'
'Not this time. I want my chance first.'
Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. 'Yes, you're right to take your first chance when you can get it.'
