"Certainly, provided you are not in uniform."
"That settles it, then," declared the man. "By the right—slow march. There's a plank bridge a little way farther up-stream."
This obstacle having been surmounted, the three fugitives made in a northerly direction. Only once in half an hour did the Northumberland Fusilier break the silence.
"Got any tommy?" he asked. "Any grub?"
"Not a crumb."
"Rough luck! I haven't had a bite for sixteen hours or more, and my belt's in the last notch."
"How far have you come?" asked Rollo.
"Goodness only knows. Aching's the name of the show."
"Aching?" repeated Kenneth in perplexity.
"Yes, Aching," replied the man vehemently. "A fitting name, too. A-a-c-h-e-n, it's spelt, so there!"