They called him Wiggins because his name was Rupert. It seemed to them a name both affected and ostentatious. Besides, crop it as you might, his hair would assume the appearance of a mop.
They came out of the narrow path into a broader rutted cart-track to see two figures coming toward them, eighty yards away.
“It’s Mum,” said Erebus.
Quick as thought the Terror dropped behind her, slipped off the bag of booty, and thrust it into a gorse-bush.
“And—and—it’s the Cruncher with her!” cried Erebus in a tone in which disgust outrang surprise.
“Of all the sickening things! The Cruncher!” cried the Terror, echoing her disgust. “What’s he come down again for?”
They paused; then went on their way with gloomy faces to meet the approaching pair.
The gentleman whom they called the “Cruncher,” and who from their tones of disgust had so plainly failed to win their young hearts was Captain Baster of the Twenty-fourth Hussars; and they called him the Cruncher on account of the vigor with which he plied his large, white, prominent teeth.
They had not gone five yards when Wiggins said in a tone of superiority: “I know why he’s come down.”
“Why?” said the Terror quickly.