JACK had the true cavalryman’s love for his horse. He had so trained Dainty that she would lie down when told, follow when called or whistled for, and do several tricks which soldiers delight to teach their horses.
On the third morning after their arrival at Varna, while Jack was busy grooming Dainty, Napper, the new gold chevrons on his arms, came up to Jack, and with an ill-concealed grin of satisfaction said, ‘Trumpeter Blair, the horse you are grooming, D 27, is to be taken over to the lines of A Troop. My nag having died, I’m taking yours.’
Jack’s face flamed scarlet, and an angry answer rose to his lips. But he knew that Napper was only waiting for him to be imprudent or to forget himself in some other way to at once have him put under arrest for insubordination, and so strict was the discipline of the day that severe punishment would surely follow. Therefore Jack curbed his temper and said, ‘By whose authority do you demand my horse?’
‘By my own, you saucy cub, and don’t forget I’m your superior officer.’
Again the hot blood surged into Jack’s face; but he went on with the grooming of the horse, while Napper stood by making remarks.
‘It’s about time the nag was given to some one who’ll look after her,’ he said; ‘her back’s sore already. Sheer neglect.’
Jack took no notice, and Napper began again, ‘Brush her fetlocks, man; brush her fetlocks.’
Jack turned angrily and said, ‘I don’t require any instructions from you on how to groom a horse.’
‘Don’t you? Well, you’ll get some, and you’ll get yourself into trouble if you give me any more back answers.’
Jack bit his lip, and just then Sergeant Barrymore came by. Jack immediately hailed him and told him what Napper had said.