“Indeed I do not!” replied Whaup, “I’ve been puzzling my brains for the last three days over the Yeomanry Regulations, but I can make nothing out of their ‘Reverse flanks’ and ‘Reforming by sections of threes?’”
“And I’m as ignorant as a baby! What on earth are we to do? That big fellow of a sergeant won’t let us stand quietly, I suppose.”
“I stick to Pounset,” said Whaup. “Whatever he does I do, and I advise you to do the same by Randolph.”
“But what if they should ride away? Isn’t there some disgusting nonsense about forming from threes?”
“I suppose the horses know something about it, else what’s the use of them? That brute of yours must have gone through the evolutions a thousand times, and ought to know the word of command by heart—Hallo!—I say, Pounset, just take care of that mare of yours, will ye! She’s kicking like the very devil, and my beast is beginning to plunge!”
“I wouldn’t be Pounset’s rear-rank for twenty pounds,” said a stalwart trooper to the left. “She has the ugliest trick of using her heels of any mare in Christendom.”
“Much obliged to you, sir, for the information,” said Whaup, controlling, with some difficulty, the incessant curveting of his steed. “I say, Pounset, if she tries that trick again I’ll hamstring her without the slightest ceremony.”
“Pooh—nonsense!” replied Pounset. “Woa, Miss Frolic—woa, lass!—she’s the gentlest creature in the creation—a child might ride her with a feather. Mere playfulness, my dear fellow, I assure you!”
“Hang her playfulness!” cried Anthony; “I’ve no idea of having my brains made a batter pudding for the amusement of a jade like that.”