Our Eighth District private cast away restraint and openly capered. “We got ’em! We got ’em!” he squealed.
The grey-green flood paused a fraction of a minute and drew itself into shape, coming to rest before Bayley. Verschoyle saluted.
“Vee, Vee,” said Bayley. “Give me back my legions. Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself?”
“The little beasts were ready for us. Deuced well posted too,” Verschoyle replied. “I wish you’d seen that first attack on our flank. Rather impressive. Who warned ’em?”
“I don’t know. I got my information from a baby in blue plush breeches. Did they do well?”
“Very decently indeed. I’ve complimented their C.O. and buttered the whole boiling.” He lowered his voice. “As a matter o’ fact, I halted five good minutes to give ’em time to get into position.”
“Well, now we can inspect our Foreign Service corps. We sha’n’t need the men for an hour, Vee.”
“Very good, Sir. Colour-sergeants!” cried Verschoyle, raising his voice, and the cry ran from company to company. Whereupon the officers left their men, people began to climb over the railings, and the regiment dissolved among the spectators and the school corps of the city.
“No sense keeping men standing when you don’t need ’em,” said Bayley. “Besides, the Schools learn more from our chaps in an afternoon than they can pick up in a month’s drill. Look at those Board-schoolmaster captains buttonholing old Purvis on the art of war!”
“Wonder what the evening papers’ll say about this,” said Pigeon.