CHAPTER XII.
BLASE-BONES FROM SANDWURSE.
I.
Sandwurse is a very wonderful place. It has produced some exalted men, but, like all institutions, it occasionally throws out a prig. This doesn’t happen very often, but when it occurs the specimen is a real one. And it was the bad fortune of our hitherto happy platoon to be saddled with one of the species. Our dear old platoon officer, Lieutenant Blessem, was found fit for duty, and departed, amid the tears of our hut. We loved that man. He was so kind, so considerate, so interested; and he wasn’t a sneak. Even Ginger admired him, and that was a compliment from our platoon high-brow. Lieutenant Blase-Bones then blew in.
We saw him approach the hut from our window. What a gorgeous Nut—all brilliantine, brown polish, and brasso!
‘Some lad!’ muttered Ginger, scenting trouble.
‘He looks as if he couldn’t help it,’ I remarked.
‘Looks a ruddy ass,’ mumbled Beefy.
Then the door banged, and the sergeant-major shouted, ‘Stand to your beds!’