“I know the man—fine, dark, handsome fellow.”
“Well, I suppose he is good-looking; but handsome is as handsome does, sir.”
“But I noticed him particularly yesterday when we marched out.”
“Very likely, sir,” said the sergeant gruffly; “and I noticed you.”
“Well, of course you would.”
“Sitting all of a heap in your saddle like a wet monkey, sir.”
“Get out! I was not!” cried Dick indignantly.
“You weren’t sitting like a soldier, sir. It made me wild to see it, after the pains I took with you, walloping about in your saddle just as if you were at home in quarters rolling in an arm-chair.”
“But we were riding easy,” cried Dick.
“I wasn’t, sir. I was riding downright uneasy, and as if the saddle was stuffed with thorns. I like a man to rest himself in a long ride, but I don’t like him to forget that he’s a soldier.”