“Hullo!” He returned to his normal tone. “First blood to me. You flushed, Ansell. You wriggled.”
“Couldn’t help flushing,” was the answer. “Don’t think I wriggled, though.”
“Well, it’s your turn now.” Stalky resumed his place in the ranks.
“Lord, Lord! It’s as good as a play,” chuckled the attentive Keyte. Ansell, too, had been blessed with relatives in the service, and slowly, in a lazy drawl—his style was more reflective than Stalky’s—descended the abysmal depths of personality.
“Blood to me!” he shouted triumphantly. “You couldn’t stand it, either.” Stalky was a rich red, and his Snider shook visibly.
“I didn’t think I would,” he said, struggling for composure, “but after a bit I got in no end of a bait. Curious, ain’t it?”
“Good for the temper,” said the slow-moving Hogan, as they returned arms to the rack.
“Did you ever?” said Foxy, hopelessly, to Keyte.
“I don’t know much about volunteers, but it’s the rummiest show I ever saw. I can see what they’re gettin’ at, though. Lord! how often I’ve been told off an’ dressed down in my day! They shape well—extremely well they shape.”
“If I could get ’em out into the open, there’s nothing I couldn’t do with ’em, Major. Perhaps when the uniforms come down, they’ll change their mind.”