“Yes,” said Ingleborough, “and those were beautiful rifles too. But look here: I could see a way out of the difficulty, only you are so scrupulous. One mustn’t tell a diplomatic fib.”
“I can’t stand telling an outrageous lie, even under stern necessity!” said West, pulling down his jacket after putting it on.
“And you are so horribly honest!”
“Yes,” said West bitterly. “I have not, as Anson declared, been busy buying illicit-diamonds. But why do you say this—what do you mean?”
“I meant that I’d have risked it as soon as it was dark, and crept away to steal a couple of the Boers’ Mausers—just like a cat—mouser after Mauser—I say, what a horrible joke!”
West was silent.
“They say they’re splendid pieces; but it would be a terrible theft, because I should take the bandoliers too.”
West was still silent.
“I say, lad,” whispered Ingleborough, laughing gently: “you couldn’t object to my stealing the rifles that would be used to kill our men.”
“How would you manage?” whispered West.