"And at the end of five years he'll get back £1 for every 15s. 6d. he's put in."
"Yes, he'll get £5. He made a lot of difficulty about that."
"You don't mean to say he jibbed about getting his money back?"
"That's precisely what did happen. He said he'd given the money for cartridge buying, and how could he take it back with a bit extra after the cartridges had been bought. He's really rather annoyed about it."
"I shall tell him," I said, "not to let it worry him, and shall explain to him how much per cent. he's getting per annum."
"You'll have to work it out yourself first of all," she said, "and I know you can't do that. And, by the way, you may as well be ready for him; he's going to ask you if he may join the Army as a drummer-boy."
"What on earth's put that into his head?"
"He's been talking to the Sergeant-Major, and he's invented a musical instrument of his own. It's made out of a cardboard box, some pins and two or three elastic bands. There it is—you'll find its name inscribed on it."
I took it up and saw inscribed upon it in large pencilled letters this strange device: "THE TIPINBANOLA; made for soldiers only."
"Francesca," I said, "it's a superb name. Where did he get it from?"