Ingleborough turned upon him sharply, and looked him through and through.
“What made you say that?” he said at last.
“Previous conversation,” replied West.
“Humph! Well, perhaps so.”
Chapter Four.
Rumours of War.
The Diamond-Fields Horse had drilled one evening till they were tired, and after it was all over, including a fair amount of firing, the smell of blank cartridges began to give way to the more pleasant odour of tobacco smoke, the officers lighting their cigars, and the privates filling up their pipes to incense the crisp evening air.
“I’m about tired of this game,” said one of a group who were chatting together; “there’s too much hard work about it.”