"Fix bayonets!" he ordered again.
"I tell you it ain't allowed at these sham shows. Colonel's orders."
"Look 'ere, you take Bill Buster's orders, or you'll get a thick ear." That settled the matter.
"Charge!" roared the leader, jumping up and leading the twenty full-blooded desperadoes up to the redoubt.
"Halt, you fellows! Halt!" roared a Lancashire subaltern, jumping up. "Are you off your bally heads?"
"'Ere, mate, you're supposed to be dead," said Bill, panting and blowing, but holding a bayonet at his chest. The remainder of his party were, meantime, tickling the fast retreating Lancashire lads with the points of their bayonets.
"Don't you know who I am?" said the indignant subaltern.
"Look 'ere, young fellow, you're supposed to be dead."
"How dare you—I'm an officer!"
"I'm Bill Buster. Now will you lie down an' kid you're dead. That's wot you've got to do at these shows."