Chick usually followed the enlisted men to the racks after drill, and helped them, so far as they cared to be helped, in disposing of their arms and accoutrements.
He was looking on now at Hal, talking with him, making suggestions and comments, commending him for the excellence of his work. Of the two boys he liked Hal the better. For Hal was always kind to him, and very considerate, and treated him just as though he were already the bona fide enlisted man that he expected some day to be; while Ben, aside from directing him, on occasion, to perform some small service, was dignified and distant, and had little to say to him.
So to-night, save for an occasional side glance, Chick was paying little attention to Private Barriscale. But when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben, with his rifle resting across his knees, begin to rub the spot of rust on the barrel with a square of emery paper, the boy’s attention was instantly attracted, and his interest aroused. He looked on incredulously for a moment, then, apparently unable to restrain his criticism, he walked across the room to where Ben was sitting.
“Excuse me!” he said, saluting as he approached, “but that ain’t no way to git rust spots off’n a rifle bar’l.”
Private Barriscale looked up in amazement. He was not accustomed to being criticized by a company hanger-on, and, besides, things had not gone well at the drill, and he was not in a particularly genial mood.
“What? What’s that you say?” he demanded sharply.
“I say,” responded Chick, “as that ain’t no way to clean a rifle bar’l. You shouldn’t ever ought to clean a rifle bar’l with emery.”
“What business is it of yours how I clean my rifle?”
“Why, I s’pose ’tain’t none o’ my business. But I know ’t no one can’t clean his rifle bar’l with no emery paper, cause it’s ag’inst the rules.”
“Well, when I want your advice I’ll tell you. In the meantime suppose you confine your admonitions to your friend across the room.”