“A row on, eh?” whispered one, as he passed us.
“It doesn’t look like fun, does it?” snarled Langrish.
“Where does Tempest come in?” persisted the inquirer.
“By the door; and the sooner you get out by it the better.”
“Ha, ha!—poor little naughty boys. An extra drill will do you good. Come on, you chaps. Let’s leave them to enjoy themselves. They’ll get used to it in time. Ho, ho!”
“Fall in!” called Mr Jarman.
And painfully conscious not only that a few of the volunteers were hanging about to look on, but that the school porter was at the moment conducting a party of visitors through the building, we obeyed listlessly and dismally. Tempest taking his place at the end of the line.
“Are these some of the volunteers?” we heard one of the lady spectators ask.
“No, madam. This is an extra drill for breach of rules,” replied the official.
“Number from the right,” cried Mr Jarman.