The climbing advance went on again till the level patch at the top, which had been turned into a gun-platform, was reached, and the men halted in the bright sunshine, to group about the huge gun after they had been ordered to break off. They rested, enjoying the cool breeze and gazing eagerly about in search of enemies, seeing, however, nothing but the surrounding prospect all looking bright and peaceful in the morning sun.
“‘Brayvo! Werry pretty!’ as Sam Weller would have said,” cried Dickenson as Captain Roby closed the field-glass he had been using and joined his junior officers, frowning and looking impatient.
“Look here, Mr Dickenson,” he said sourly, “a little of that commonplace, slangy quotation may be tolerated sometimes after the mess dinner if it’s witty—mind, I say if it’s witty—but such language as this seems to me quite out of place, especially if spoken in the hearing of the men when on service.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Dickenson shortly; “but I took care that they were out of hearing.”
“They are not out of hearing, sir,” retorted Roby; “as Mr Lennox here will bear me witness, Sergeant James and Corporal May must have heard every word.”
He turned to Lennox with a questioning look and waited for him to, as he termed it, bear witness.
“Well, really, I don’t think they could have heard,” said Lennox.
“What!” cried Roby indignantly. “Here, sergeant, you heard—you, Corporal May, you heard what Mr Dickenson said?”
“Yes, sir, everything,” replied the corporal smartly.
“And you, sergeant?”