“You stupe,” said Mark. “He can’t fight.”
Cecil, a shy, slender lad, came and stood behind his leader.
“You’ll lose everybody,” said Mark. “Ted will have all the big ones. There, he’s got Tim. Have Fred; I saw him knock George over once.”
Fred came, and the choosing continued, each trying to get the best soldiers, till none were left but little Charlie, who was an odd one.
“He’s no good,” said Ted; “you can put him in your pocket.”
“I hate you,” said Charlie; “after all the times I’ve run with messages for you. Bevis, let me come your side.”
“Take him,” said Ted; “but mind, you’ll have one more if you do, and I shall get some one else.”
“Then he’ll get a bigger one,” said Mark. “Don’t have him; he’ll only be in the way.”
Charlie began to walk off with his head hanging.
“Cry-baby,” shouted the soldiery. “Pipe your eye.”