“My orders are, not to talk except to explain my orders—they’ll lick me if I do.”
McTurk looked at Beetle. The two shook their heads and turned away.
“I swear Stalky is a great man,” said Beetle after a long pause. “One consolation is that this sort of secret-society biznai will drive King wild.”
It troubled many more than King, but the members of the corps were muter than oysters. Foxy, being bound by no vow, carried his woes to Keyte.
“I never come across such nonsense in my life. They’ve tiled the lodge, inner and outer guard, all complete, and then they get to work, keen as mustard.”
“But what’s it all for?” asked the ex-Troop Sergeant-Major.
“To learn their drill. You never saw anything like it. They begin after I’ve dismissed ’em—practisin’ tricks; but out into the open they will not come—not for ever so. The ’ole thing is pre-posterous. If you’re a cadet-corps, I say, be a cadet-corps, instead o’ hidin’ be’ind locked doors.”
“And what do the authorities say about it?”
“That beats me again.” The Sergeant spoke fretfully. “I go to the ’Ead an’ ’e gives me no help. There’s times when I think he’s makin’ fun o’ me. I’ve never been a Volunteer-sergeant, thank God—but I’ve always had the consideration to pity ’em. I’m glad o’ that.”
“I’d like to see ’em,” said Keyte. “From your statements, Sergeant, I can’t get at what they’re after.”