"She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a tar.
It ought to be Ralli's answer about the new rivets . . . . Great
Heavens!" Hitchcock jumped to his feet.
"What is it?" said the senior, and took the form. "That's what
Mother Gunga thinks, is it," he said, reading. "Keep cool, young'un.
We've got all our work cut out for us. Let's see. Muir wired half
an hour ago: 'Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out.' Well, that gives
us - one, two - nine and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut
and seven's sixteen and a half to Lataoli - say fifteen hours before
it comes down to us."
"Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is two
months before anything could have been expected, and the left bank
is littered up with stuff still. Two full months before the time!"
" That's why it comes. I've only known Indian rivers for
five-and-twenty years, and I don't pretend to understand. Here comes
another tar." Findlayson opened the telegram. "Cockran, this time,
from the Ganges Canal: 'Heavy rains here. Bad.' He might have saved
the last word. Well, we don't want to know any more. We've got to
work the gangs all night and clean up the river-bed.
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