"Since you ask, I should say you was."
"That's a bit 'ard! Wot'll I git?"
"Ten to one, your skater."
"Wot is my skater?"
"Your Corporal's stripe, you suckin' innocent! Wot for? For takin' a Boer spy pris'ner—that's wot for!"
"Cripps!" said W. Keyse, enlightened, illuminated and glowing in the darkness. He added a moment later, in rather a depressed tone: "But it was 'im, the civilian bloke with the beard, 'oo downed the Dutchy, an' sat on 'im till the guard come up."
The Sergeant was ahead of the half-company, speaking to the officer in charge. It was the Corporal who answered, across the man who marched upon the left of W. Keyse:
"O' course it was. But you 'ad the Dopper fust, and," he cackled quietly, "the Colonel won't be jealous."
The eyes and mouth of W. Keyse became circular.
"The who?"