“No,” I said; “have the French come?”
“No, not yet; but the Ripplemouth people are going to ask your father to help them make a fort on the cliff over the harbour, and they’re going to get some guns from Bristol.”
“What nonsense!” I said. “Here, I’m going over to the Gap; will you come?”
“No, I don’t want to come to the old lead pump and see your father’s people make the water muddy. What are you going to do?”
“Sword drill.”
“Oh! I don’t care for sword drill.”
“Bigley’s coming too,” I said; “and we’re going through it all.”
“It’s stupid work standing all in a row swinging your arms about like windmills, chopping nothing, and poking at the air, and pretending that someone’s trying to stab you. I wouldn’t mind if it was real fighting, but yours is all sham.”
“Then we’re going to do some pistol-shooting at a mark with ball-cartridge.”
“Pooh! It’s all fudge!” said Bob yawning. “I wouldn’t mind coming if you were going to do something with real guns.”