“But the gloves will cost about a pound.”
“A pound!” said Mercer in dismay. Then a happy thought struck him.
“We shall have to give up buying Magglin’s gun for the present,” he whispered to me. Then aloud—
“All right Lom. If we bring you the money, will you buy the gloves?”
“Yes, my lads, I will; and good ones.”
“And you will teach us?”
“I’ll teach you,” said the sergeant, “for the sake of helping to make a strong man of the son of a brave officer, who died for his country. There!”
“Hooray!” cried Mercer; “and how much will you charge for the lessons, Lom? because you must make it a little more, as we shall have to go tick for a bit, because of paying so much for the gloves.”
“How much?” said the sergeant thoughtfully. “Let me see. First and foremost, your words of honour that you’ll never tell a soul I taught you how to fight, for it might lead to unpleasantness.”
“On my honour, I’ll never tell!” cried Mercer.