“And that’s worth risking a good bit for!” cried Green, with his eyes sparkling, and a heightened colour.
“Hark to Green! Good lad! By Jove, he’s right!” Green blushed.
“Why are you like King Duncan’s blood on Lady Macbeth’s hand, Edwards?” asked Tom Strachan of the last speaker.
“I can never guess riddles,” said Edwards. “Give it up.”
“Because you have made the Green one red,” said Strachan.
“You will never miss the Victoria Cross for want of cheek, at any rate,” said Fitzgerald.
“I am glad of that,” replied Tom, “as I have my plan for it. I mean to stick behind you the first time you go to do anything heroic, and if you get killed I shall hope to get the credit of your action.”
“So you want me to be knocked on the head, do you, you young villain?”
“Not at all, sir; no one can say I would rather have your room than your company.”
“What are the boys coming to?” cried Fitzgerald. “When I was a sub, I no more dared to speak to my captain like that than to—to walk off parade without permission,” he added, after pausing to think what was the highest possible stretch of mortal impudence.