When he returned to his duties on the railway, Martyn spread the
name far and wide among his associates, so that Scott met it as
he led his paddy-carts to war. The natives believed it to be
some English title of honour, and the cart-drivers used it in
all simplicity till Faiz Ullah, who did not approve of foreign
japes, broke their heads. There was very little time for milking
now, except at the big camps, where Jim had extended Scott's
idea and was feeding large flocks on the useless northern grains.
Sufficient paddy had come now into the Eight Districts to hold
the people safe, if it were only distributed quickly, and for that
purpose no one was better than the big Canal officer, who never
lost his temper, never gave an unnecessary order, and never
questioned an order given. Scott pressed on, saving his cattle,
washing their galled necks daily, so that no time should be lost
on the road; reported himself with his rice at the minor
famine-sheds, unloaded, and went back light by forced night-march
to the next distributing centre, to find Hawkins's unvarying
telegram: "Do it again." And he did it again and again, and yet
again, while Jim Hawkins, fifty miles away, marked off on a big
map the tracks of his wheels gridironing the stricken lands.
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