"Good reason they call them kopjes," Carew grumbled scornfully, as he swept his arm about the encircling landscape."Every flat-top hill is an exact copy of every other flat-top hill, and they all are more or less hideous to behold.My one source of rejoicement lies in the fact that the pattern was worn out down here, instead of being sent up to make our mountains by.I hate a bobtail horse; but it's nothing so bad as these everlasting bobtail hills.And, by Jove, there comes another dust devil!"Far away across the veldt, a tiny spurt of dust twirled up into the air and came spinning towards them like a huge, translucent top.
Gaining momentum as it spun along and picking up more dust as it advanced, it came whirling onward, rising high and higher until it swept down on them, a huge, khaki-colored, balloon-like mass.It caught them in its whirl, ground its stinging, sifting particles into their clothing, their skin and even into their shut eyes.Then it passed them by, and went spinning away in its course.Carew swore softly, as he wiped the dust from his lashes.
"Beastly things! There really ought to be a society formed for the suppression of dust devils in their infancy.What do you suppose becomes of the things, Weldon? There's no stopping them, once they get under way; and, at their rate of growth, they could bury a township in their old age.""Granted they could find one to bury," Weldon returned."Meanwhile, observe your bath tub."Carew glanced down at the dust-filled buckets at his feet.
"Oh, hang!" he said concisely."And I was about to prink.""One would think you needed it now more than ever," Weldon answered, as he shook himself free from the thickest of the dust."What's the use of trying to keep clean, Carew?""Precious little.I used to talk about I 'the un-tubbed.' Now Imean, merely for the sake of example, to shave twice in the month, and swab myself off between whiles.It's not for comfort, I assure you.It's my belief that an occasional bath is worse than none.It merely stirs up memories of the buried past, and aspirations that can't be fulfilled.However--" And Carew, the quondam exquisite, pulled off his socks and shirt, punched them down into one of the buckets and then did his British best to wash himself in the other.
His lamentations rose again, however, when he put on his time-stained uniform once more.
"I now understand why Brother Boer sleeps in his clothes," he observed grimly."Cleanliness, may be next to godliness; but it is mighty near the edge of the diabolical to put yourself back into clothes that are only fit for the dust bin.When I am field marshal of a long campaign, my first act will be to establish swimming tanks and laundries as a branch of the Army Service Corps.Meanwhile, see here!" His open hand came down on his dust-colored coat.Ten minutes later, the print of every finger was still distinctly visible.
Weldon watched him sympathetically.Thanks to the efforts of Kruger Bobs, his own clothing was slightly less filled with dust, and his abandoned socks came back to him in a state of comparative cleanliness.Satisfied with the fact, he made no effort to inquire into the method of its achievement.
Carew, meanwhile, his coat off, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, was grappling with his efforts to produce laundry effect from a wooden bucket and a few quarts of dingy water.Beyond splashing his putties and giving himself a pain in the hinges of his back, he accomplished little.The garments were very wet; but their griminess was increased, rather than diminished.Carew's face fell, as he lifted them one by one.Then he shook his head.
"They certainly aren't cleaner; but they may be a bit fresher for being irrigated," he observed hopefully."Look out!"Weldon dodged out of range, as a sock, squeezed from the ankle downward, yielded up its irrigation in a sudden spurt through the toe.
"Hold on, Carew; I'm no candidate for baptism," he adjured his friend."Let your things soak for a while, and I'll send Kruger Bobs over to take them in hand, as soon as he gets through polishing off The Nig."Carew straightened his aching back.
"I'll change work with him," he suggested promptly."A horse is on your own level; it's degrading to run a Chinese laundry."Weldon glanced from the wooden bucket to the soaked wrists and splashed putties of his companion.
"I wish Miss Mellen could see you now, Carew," he remarked unkindly.
With unexpected suddenness, Carew mounted his dignity.
"Unfortunately Miss Mellen is at Johannesburg.Moreover, Miss Mellen has probably seen men in this mess before now," he answered a little shortly.
"Doubtless.She may have been in a similar fix, herself.If she were, I suspect she would put it through and come out on top,"Weldon replied, with an accent of hearty and respectful admiration which mollified his companion."There's my call.I must go to inspect my day nursery." And, leaving Carew beside his amateur wash-tub, he went striding away to the farther side of the camp where a hollow between the hills had been converted into a monstrous kraal.
