The Colonel was in a genial mood; the boys appeared very forlorn and unprotected on the desolate plain, and one of them was handsome.
“Well!” said the Colonel, recognizing them. “Are you going to pull me down in the open? I’m sure I never interfere with you, even though”—he sniffed suspiciously—“you have been smoking.”
It was time to strike while the iron was hot. Their hearts beat tumultuously.
“Beg y’ pardon, Sir,” began Jakin. “The Reg’ment’s ordered on active service, Sir?”
“So I believe,” said the Colonel, courteously.
“Is the Band goin’, Sir?” said both together. Then, without pause, “We’re goin’, Sir, ain’t we?”
“You!” said the Colonel, stepping back the more fully to take in the two small figures. “You! You’d die in the first march.”
“No, we wouldn’t, Sir. We can march with the Regiment anywheres—p’rade an’ anywhere else,” said Jakin.
“If Tom Kidd goes ’ell shut up like a clasp-knife,” said Lew, “Tom ’as very close veins in both ’is legs, Sir.”
“Very how much?”