“The 205th will never be in such a position, sir,” said the colonel stiffly. “Run, indeed! The 205th run!”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the lieutenant, whose face was now almost as red as his uniform.
“Granted, Mr Lacey; but, for goodness’ sake, don’t you ever let me hear you say a word again about running.”
“Not forward, sir?”
“Oh, yes; that, of course.”
The long morning’s evolutions were gone through, the band went to the front, and the regiment was marched back to barracks; and that same afternoon, as Dick sat alone in the reading-room, copying a band-part for Wilkins, there was a panting noise close behind him, and Brumpton’s thick, rich voice exclaimed:
“Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. How are you, Smithson?”
“Quite well,” said Dick, smiling in the non-commissioned officer’s face.
“Don’t—don’t do that,” said Brumpton, sharply.
“Don’t do what, Mr Brumpton?”