"I beg that you will in no way interfere," he observed coldly. "I should most strongly resent it."
The heart of the old soldier warmed to the youth, as he contrasted his slim boyish grace with the mighty strength, natural and developed, of the professional Strong Man, Wrestler, and Acrobat--most tricky, cunning, and dangerous of relentless foes.
"You keep clear of Luigi Rivoli as long as you can," he said with a kindly smile. "And at least remember that Buck and I are with you. Personally, I'm no sort of match for our Luigi in a rough-and-tumble nowadays, should he compel one. But he has let me alone since I told him with some definiteness that he would have to defend himself with either lead or steel, if he insisted on trouble between him and me."
"There now," he continued, rising, "now try that for yourself on a cartridge-pouch.... First melt the wax a bit, with a match--and don't forget that matches are precious in the Legion as they're so damned dear--and rub it on the leather as I did. Then take this flat block of wood and smooth it over until it's all evenly spread. And then rub hard with the coarse rag for an hour or two, then harder with the fine rag for about half an hour. Next polish with your palm, and then with the wool. Buck and I own a scrap of velvet which you can borrow before Inspection Parades, and big shows--but we don't use it extravagantly of course....
"Well, that's the astiquage curse, and the other's washing white kit without soap, and ironing it without an iron. Of course, Madame la République couldn't give us glazed leather, or khaki webbing--nor could she afford to issue one flat-iron to a barrack-room, so that we could iron a white suit in less than a couple of hours.... The devil of it is that it's all done in our 'leisure' time when we're supposed to be resting, or recreating.... Think of the British 'Tommy' in India with his dhobi, his barrack-sweeper, his table-servant, and his syce--or his share in them. If we did nothing in the world but our daily polishing, washing and ironing, we should be busy men. However! 'C'est la Legion!' And one won't live for ever.... You won't want any help with the rifle and bayonet, I suppose?"
"No, thanks, I've 'had some,' though I haven't handled a Lebel before," and Reginald Rupert settled down to work while Legionary John Bull proceeded with his toilet.
"Anything else you want to know?" enquired the latter, as he put a final polish upon his gleaming sword-bayonet. "You know enough not to cut your rifle-sling stropping your razor on it.... Don't waste your cake of soap making a candlestick of it. Too rare and precious here."
"Well, thanks very much; the more you tell me, the better for me, if it's not troubling you, Sir."
John Bull paused and looked at the recruit.
"Why do you call me 'Sir'?" he enquired.