Dick obeyed unwillingly, and his brother-officer turned the headpiece upside-down and looked inside.
“Just as I expected,” he said, pointing: “not laced up. Look at this leather lining all cut into gores or points. What’s that for?”
“For ventilation, I suppose.”
“Venti—grandmother, boy! Nonsense! Look here; a lace runs through all those points. You draw it tight, tie it so, and it turns the lining into a leather skullcap, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yes, I see.”
“But you didn’t before, because you didn’t know. Helmets are heavy things, and you haven’t got to walk in them, but to ride, and ride roughly, too. Consequently your helmet must be kept in its place. Now, try it on.”
Dick slipped it over his head, and passed the chin-strap beneath.
“How is it? Humph! you look like a candle with the extinguisher on.”
“Can’t help that,” said Dick shortly. “It fits close and firm.”
“Of course it does. Seems to rest all over your head instead of being held on like a band round your brows. There, I’ve taught you something. Better let me see to your straps and slings. These tailors never have the slightest notion of how a man’s accoutrements are to be worn.”