‘Well,’ said Volnay, ‘wilful must if wilful will. You haven’t been getting into any sort of mischief, have you?’
‘No,’ said Polson. ‘I’ve done nothing that I have a right to be ashamed of.’
‘Had a row with the old man?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go home and make it up again, Jervase. A private soldier’s life is a dog’s life for a man of your breeding, and you’ll find it so.’
‘That’s as may be,’ Polson answered. ‘But I’ve quite made up my mind, and all the talking in the world will make no difference.’
Within reach of his hand there lay upon the table a loose bunch of ribbons, red, white, and blue, such as recruiting sergeants were wont to pin in the hats of their recruits. And Polson, toying with this, found that the bunch was held together at one end by a pin. He affixed it to his own cap.
‘Now,’ he said, putting on the cap and rising to his feet, ‘the trick’s done.’
‘Oh, dear no!’ said Volnay. ‘The trick isn’t done yet, old fellow. You’ve got to be formally enlisted, and to answer a rigmarole of questions, and be examined by the regimental doctor, and to take the oath. The trick isn’t done yet, by a long chalk.’
‘Well,’ said Polson, ‘I shall take it as a favour if you’ll put me through with as little waste of time as possible, for, to tell you the truth, I want that shilling, and the sooner I get it the nearer I shall be to bread and cheese.’