“Private Western, sir,” answered Phil with flushed cheeks. “Private Phil Western, Number 1760.”
“Then, Western, you can expect to hear from me again. You are a credit to your regiment, and your officers and all your comrades shall know what a fine lad you are. Now, I will not detain you. You had better get off and change your clothes.”
“Three cheers for the sodger boy!” a voice in the crowd shouted; and these were given with a gusto which made Phil’s heart flutter, while Tony stood upright in the boat, looking more pleased and proud than he had ever done before.
“Shove off!” cried Phil almost angrily. “Shove off, or we shall never get away.” A minute later they were pulling up-stream once more.
“I don’t mind guessing them stripes is yours,” chuckled Tony over his shoulder. “Young un, I knewed you’d have ’em soon, but you’ve won ’em now, and no one ought to feel prouder of them than you. Mate, Tony Jenkins is more pleased than if he’d got ’em hisself, and he feels just like a blessed peacock.”
Phil made no reply, for he was still confused after his adventure, but for all that the thought that now there was some possibility of promotion elated him. If from this day he was to be known as Corporal Western he determined that he would do credit to that rank, and make use of it as a stepping-stone to a higher one. He wondered what the colonel would say, and was in the middle of imagining himself being thanked by that officer in the orderly-room when the boat banged against the bank.
“Come along, mate,” cried Tony. “We’ll get along to barracks and change these wet togs.”
Squeezing the water from their garments they left the boat in charge of its owner, and made the best of their way to the barracks, where they were not long in getting into dry clothing.
Already a rumour had reached the soldiers, and soon both were surrounded by an eager crush.
“What’s happened? What have you two chaps been up to?” they asked.