Dick was flushed with pleasurable excitement, doubly flushed with anger; but he kept his temper down, and let his companions bully and hector and fume till they were tired.
Then he gave an important-looking blue letter he held a bit of a wave, and said, “It’s no use to be jealous.”
“Pooh! Who’s jealous—and of you?” said the smallest boy present, one who had very high heels to his boots. “That’s too good.”
“For, as to being a favourite with the general, he has never taken the slightest notice of me since I joined.”
“There, that’ll do,” said one of the party; “a man can’t help feeling disappointment. Every one is sure to feel so except the one who gets the stroke of luck. I say, ‘Hurrah for Dick Darrell!’”
The others joined in congratulations now.
“I say, old chap, though,” said one, “what a swell you’ll be!”
“Yes; won’t he? We shall run against him capering about on his spirited Arab, while we poor fellows are trudging along in the hot sand behind the heavy guns.”
“Don’t cut us, Dick, old chap,” said another.
“He won’t; he’s not that sort,” cried yet another. “I say, we must give him a good send-off.”