“But if he fails you will be blamed.”
“Oh, assuredly. I shall post a notice in the corridor this afternoon, and—”
“I shall watch the result.”
“Kindly keep your ’ands off the new arm-rack.” Foxy wrestled with a turbulent crowd in the gymnasium. “Nor it won’t do even a condemned Snider any good to be continual snappin’ the lock, Mr. Swayne.—Yiss, the uniforms will come later, when we’re more proficient; at present we will confine ourselves to drill. I am ’ere for the purpose o’ takin’ the names o’ those willin’ to join.—Put down that Snider, Muster Hogan!”
“What are you goin’ to do, Beetle?” said a voice.
“I’ve had all the drill I want, thank you.”
“What! After all you’ve learned? Come on! Don’t be a scab! They’ll make you corporal in a week,” cried Stalky.
“I’m not goin’ up for the Army.” Beetle touched his spectacles.
“Hold on a shake, Foxy,” said Hogan. “Where are you goin’ to drill us?”
“Here—in the gym—till you are fit an’ capable to be taken out on the road.” The Sergeant threw a chest.