Rudyard Kipling 127 work, and see some things.” “Get some of the fat off you; you’re disgracefully out of condition,” said the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful of Dick generally over the right ribs. “Soft as putty — pure tallow born of over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.” “We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.” “Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. There’s always trouble in South America.” “Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only difficulty is to know where I’m to stop. But I shall stay here, as I told you before.” “Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the others,” said Torpenhow. “Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.” “You've the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn’t very warm in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at all, which I’m not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small trip to begin with.” “That’s something at any rate. Where will you go?” said Torpenhow. “It would do you all the good in the world, old man.” The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick’s eye, and refrained from speech. “T shall go in the first place to Rathray’s stable, where I shall hire one horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I shall walk him back