"What is the good of trying at all?" said Gordon at tea that night. "There were we, sweating over ploughed fields, banging through fences, racing up beastly paths, and then that mouthing prelate says 'rather silly'! What's the use of trying?"
"There is none," said Betteridge. "I am going to conduct this platoon in future on different lines. 'Evil be thou my good,' as the lad Milton said. We will be unorthodox, original and rebellious."
A few days later, Gordon and Rudd saw displayed in a boot-shop window a wondrous collection of coloured silk shoe-laces.
"Does anyone really wear those things?" said Gordon.
"I suppose so, or they wouldn't show them."
"They are certainly amazing."
They stood looking at them as one would at a heathen god. Then suddenly Gordon clutched Rudd's sleeve.
"A notion! My word, a notion! Let's buy some pairs and wear them at platoon drill to-morrow."
Gordon was about to burst in to the shop when Rudd detained him.
"Steady, man, this is a great idea. Let's buy enough for the whole platoon. It will be a gorgeous sight! Let's fetch Betteridge."