The Bishop of Barchester 



"E could ride a kangaroo over a six-bar gate 

 if *e chose, sir, and, to my way of thinkin,' what 

 'e did was 'arder. E's the quiet sort, you 

 know, as doesn't do a lot o' talkin', but when 'e 

 wants a thing 'e rides for it, straight as the crow 

 flies, and 'e gets it. And when 'e's crossed, sir, 

 it's stand from under — though there ain't a kinder 

 more respected orfficer in the whole bloomin* 

 British harmy. We was hout in Hindia, sir, 

 which the same ain't much of a country, with its 

 niggers and 'eat, at a big garrison town, called 

 Delhi. There was plenty goin' on, too, considerin' 

 the distance from London, what with 'orse-racing, 

 flirting and quarrels; and most everybody, orfiicers 

 and Tommies too, were busy, at one or the other, 

 or all. 



"But the capt'in, 'e knows 'is way about a bit, 

 'aving been in 'ot places before, and so now and 

 then, 'e wins a race or two, or, perhaps, drops into 

 the club for tea. And that's a funny thing, too, 

 for a man that 'as knocked about with 'orses — the 

 capt'in don't drink nothin' but tea. The way 

 the whole thing started, they tells me, was at the 

 club, two days since the Hon. Major Percy Clinton 

 came to join the Eightieth 'Orse. The capt'in 

 is sittin', sippin' 'is tea as cozy and 'armless as 

 you please, with the noise and larfter around 'im, 

 when in comes the major and invites the capt'in 

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