“Bad!” I cried. “It was miraculous!”
“Circus-work—all circus-work!” said Pigeon. “It won’t prevent ’em bein’ sick as dogs when the ship rolls.” The crowd round us applauded, while the men looked meekly down their self-conscious noses.
A little grey-whiskered man trotted up to the Boy.
“Have we made good, Bayley?” he said. “Are we en état de partir?”
“That’s what I shall report,” said Bayley, smiling.
“I thought my bit o’ French ’ud draw you,” said the little man, rubbing his hands.
“Who is he?” I whispered to Pigeon.
“Ramsay—their C.O. An old Guard captain. A keen little devil. They say he spends six hundred a year on the show. He used to be in the Lincolns till he came into his property.”
“Take ’em home an’ make ’em drunk,” I heard Bayley say. “I suppose you’ll have a dinner to celebrate. But you may as well tell the officers of E company that I don’t think much of them. I sha’n’t report it, but their men were all over the shop.”
“Well, they’re young, you see,” Colonel Ramsay began.