Travers turned white with indignation, but such was his great idea of discipline, that he didn't tell her she was a drunken old beast, which she was, but just marched off. But he was fearfully upset, all the same, and, instead of pouring out his rage on the horrid old woman, he poured it out on me. He'd been a bit queer all day, owing to a row with Brown over a history lesson, in which Travers minor messed up the story of Charles II; and now, what with one thing and another, he lost his usual self-control and got very nasty.
He said scouting with another person was no good--not with me, anyway.
And I said:
"What have I done?"
And he said:
"You're such a fathead--nothing ever happens when you're about!"
I told him to keep his temper and not make a silly ass of himself. I also asked him what he thought was going to happen. I said:
"We all know you're always ready for anything--from an Uhlan to a caterpillar--but it seems to me the essence of scouting is to keep wide awake when nothing is happening, like the fleet in the North Sea. Any fool can do things; the thing is always to be ready to do them, and not get your shirt out and lose your nerve because there's nothing to do."
This good advice fairly settled Travers minor. He undoubtedly lost his temper, as he admitted afterwards, and he said:
"When I want you to tell me my business, Briggs, I'll let you know."