"Got the colic, Jack?" asked Harris—"you double up so."
Winch glared up at him a moment,—a ludicrous picture, with that writhing face and that curious fighting-cut,—but cast down his eyes again, sulkily, and said nothing.
"Come away, boys," whispered Frank. "Don't stay here, making fun of him. Why do you?"
"Jack," said Ellis, "we're going to take a drink. Won't you come along with us?"—tauntingly.
And the Blues dispersed, leaving poor Jack to his own bitter reflections.
He had learned one thing—who his friends were. On being released, he shunned Harris and Ellis especially, for a day or two, and paid his court to Frank.
"I am going to tell you something, Frank," said he, as they were once at the pond-side, washing their plates after dinner. "I'm going to leave the company."
"Leave the Blues?" said Frank.
"Yes, and quit the service. I've got sick of it."
"But I thought you liked it so well."