“Steaks—raw steaks. I don’t understand you.”
“This is rough woodland; you are not training now, are you?” said the major, carefully placing what looked like a handful of dirty little blackish potatoes in his fishing creel.
“Training? Well, yes, of course I am. Keeping myself up to the mark,” retorted Rolph. “A soldier, in my opinion, ought to be the very perfection of manly strength.”
“Well, yes,” said the major, rubbing the soil off one of his dirty little truffles, and then polishing his bright little steel trowel with a piece of newspaper, “but the men of my time did pretty well with no other training than their military drill.”
“Autres—I forget the rest,” said Rolph. “I never was good at French. It means other fellows had other manners in other times, major. Got a good haul of toadstools?”
“No, sir, I have not got a good haul of toadstools to-day; but I have unearthed a few truffles. Should you like a dish for dinner?”
“Thanks, no. Not coming my way, I suppose?”
“No,” said the major. “I think I shall trudge back.”
“Ho!” exclaimed Rolph. “Well, then, I’ll say ta-ta, till dinner-time;” and he went off at a good swinging pace.
“Almost looks as if they were watching me,” muttered the young officer, as he trudged on. “Tchah! no! The old boys wouldn’t do that, either of them;” and he turned into one of the thickest portions of the wood.