“One moment!” said Dick sharply. “Are you the bear of the corps?”
“The bear of the corps?” said the visitor, staring. “Oh, I see—a joke! The bear, to lick the cub into shape. Ha, ha! Yes, you’ll do, boy—you’ll do. But, to be serious. He said that we must make the best of you.”
“But, what nonsense!” said Dick. “I’ve gone through all my drilling at Addiscombe, and I’ve gone through a lot more with the foot regiment.”
“Oh, yes; but that’s as good as nothing to what you’ve got to do with us. You’ve been used to crawl, my lad; now you have to fly. I’ve got to help you use your wings, and it will make it easier for you with the drilling. What about the riding-school? Ever been on a horse?”
“Yes.”
“You learned to ride?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a pity, because you’ll have to unlearn that. But we shall make something of you. Here, put on your helmet.”
“Pooh! I have tried that on, and it fits.”
“You do as I tell you. What you call a fit perhaps won’t suit me. Bring it here.”