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That night Tosher, whom we dubbed ‘the Materialist,’ slipped out of the hut about nine-thirty. He crossed the dark parade-ground, and made for the officers’ quarters. On arriving at Captain Cheerall’s domicile, he knocked at the door.
‘Come in.’
‘Say, cap., I’d like to swot up some of that history.’
‘I see! What can I do for you?’
‘Well, I guess you’d better lend me a book to get on with.’
‘Certainly. Here you are. Anything to oblige a good Canadian.’
‘Thanks, cap. And, I say’——
‘What?’