Draw Swords! Part 2

"No."

"Bless us! what self-denial! Well, I'm glad I dropped in at the nick of time. We'll have 'em all out again."

"That we won't," cried d.i.c.k shortly.

"That we will, my boy. I'm precious proud of our troop, and I'm not going to have my junior turn out a regular guy to make the men grin."

d.i.c.k ground his teeth at the very thought of it. Grinned at--for a guy!

"Our uniform takes some putting on, my lad, and we can't afford to let the ignorant sneer. We're the picked corps, and why such a shrimp as you should have been allowed to join pa.s.ses my comprehension."

"Look here, Mr Wyatt, if you've come here on purpose to insult me, have the goodness to leave my room!" cried d.i.c.k fiercely, and feeling hot all over.

"Bravo! Well done, little un," cried Wyatt, patting him on the back; "I like that."

"Keep your hands off me, sir, if you please!" cried d.i.c.k furiously.

"Better still, shrimp."

"And look here," cried d.i.c.k, who was now bubbling over with anger, "if you dare to call me shrimp again I'll--I'll--Look here, sir, your conduct is most ungentlemanly, and I shall--I shall--"

"Kick me, and make me call you out; and we shall meet, exchange shots, shake hands, and be sworn friends ever after--eh, shrimp, lad? No; we'll do it without all that. Yes, precious ungentlemanly of me, and it's not nice to be laughed at and called names," said d.i.c.k's visitor.

"Only my way, my lad. But I say, you know," continued the young officer, taking a chair by the back, turning it round, and then mounting it as if he already had his left foot in a stirrup, raising his right leg very high so as to clear an imaginary cantle and valise, throwing it slowly over, and then dropping down astride, "I like that, but you are little and thin, you know."

"I suppose I shall grow," retorted d.i.c.k hotly, and the words were on his lips to say, "as big and rude and ugly as you are," but he refrained.

"Grow? Like a weed, my lad. You're just the big-boned fellow for it.

We'll soon make you put on muscle."

"Thank you!" cried d.i.c.k scornfully.

"Bless us! what a young fire-eater it is! You'll do, d.i.c.ky; that you will. From what I saw of you last night, I fancied you'd be a nice, quiet, mamma's boy, and I was sorry that they had not kept you at home."

"Indeed!" said d.i.c.k.

"Cool down, my lad; cool down now. You've shown that you've got plenty of stuff in you. There, shake hands, Darrell. Don't be upset about a bit of chaff, boy. I am a bit of a ruffian, I know; but you and I have got to be friends. More than that--brothers. We fellows out here have to do a lot of fighting. Before long, perhaps, I shall have to be saving your life, or you saving mine."

"That sounds pleasant," said d.i.c.k, resigning his hand to the firm grip which closed upon it, and responding heartily, for there was something taking in the young man's bluff way.

"Well, hardly," said the latter, his face lighting up with a frank smile. "But never mind that; I only wanted to tell you that we're a sprinkle of Englishmen among hundreds of thousands of fierce, fighting bullies, and we've got to set up our chins and swagger, and let every one see that we're the masters. We don't want milksops in the Flying Artillery."

"And you think that's what I am," said d.i.c.k contemptuously.

"That I just don't, shrimp. No, d.i.c.ky, I think quite t'other way on, and I'm a bit of a judge. I shall go back to Hulton and tell him you'll do."

"Thanks. But who's Hulton? Stop, I know--the captain I met last night at the mess."

"'Who's Hulton?' Hark at the young heathen!" cried the visitor. "He's your captain, my lad--captain of our troop, the finest troop of the grandest corps in the world. Now you know Hulton and the character of your troop. Don't you feel proud?"

"Not a bit," said d.i.c.k.

The young man reached forward and gave d.i.c.k a sounding slap on the shoulder.

"That settles it!" he cried. "I was right before. Yes, you'll do. So now, then, let's set to work."

"To work? Now?"

"Yes; Hulton told me to come and look you up. 'Go and see the young cub, and try and lick him into shape,' he said."

"One moment!" said d.i.c.k sharply. "Are you the bear of the corps?"

"The bear of the corps?" said the visitor, staring. "Oh, I see--a joke!

The bear, to lick the cub into shape. Ha, ha! Yes, you'll do, boy-- you'll do. But, to be serious. He said that we must make the best of you."

"But, what nonsense!" said d.i.c.k. "I've gone through all my drilling at Addis...o...b.., and I've gone through a lot more with the foot regiment."

"Oh, yes; but that's as good as nothing to what you've got to do with us. You've been used to crawl, my lad; now you have to fly. I've got to help you use your wings, and it will make it easier for you with the drilling. What about the riding-school? Ever been on a horse?"

"Yes."

"You learned to ride?"

"Yes."

"That's a pity, because you'll have to unlearn that. But we shall make something of you. Here, put on your helmet."

"Pooh! I have tried that on, and it fits."

"You do as I tell you. What you call a fit perhaps won't suit me.

Bring it here."

d.i.c.k obeyed unwillingly, and his brother-officer turned the headpiece upside-down and looked inside.

"Just as I expected," he said, pointing: "not laced up. Look at this leather lining all cut into gores or points. What's that for?"

"For ventilation, I suppose."

"Venti--grandmother, boy! Nonsense! Look here; a lace runs through all those points. You draw it tight, tie it so, and it turns the lining into a leather skullcap, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes, I see."

"But you didn't before, because you didn't know. Helmets are heavy things, and you haven't got to walk in them, but to ride, and ride roughly, too. Consequently your helmet must be kept in its place. Now, try it on."

d.i.c.k slipped it over his head, and pa.s.sed the chin-strap beneath.

"How is it? Humph! you look like a candle with the extinguisher on."

"Can't help that," said d.i.c.k shortly. "It fits close and firm."