"Mustn't look through the key-hole," said the sentry.
"I like that. Why, Wake, you little beast, I made you a volunteer.""Can't help it. My orders are not to allow any one to look.""S'pose we do?" said McTurk. "S'pose we jolly well slay you?""My orders are, I am to give the name of anybody who interfered with me on my post, to the corps, an' they'd deal with him after drill, accordin' to martial law.""What a brute Stalky is!" said Beetle. They never doubted for a moment who had devised that scheme.
"You esteem yourself a giddy centurion, don't you?" said Beetle, listening to the crash and rattle of grounded arms within.
"My ordcrs are, not to talk except to explain my orders--they'll lick me if I do."McTurk looked at Beetle. The two shook their heads and turned away.
"I swear Stalky _is_ a great man," said Beetle after a long pause. "One consolation is that this sort of secret-society biznai will drive King wild."It troubled many more than King, but the members of the corps were muter than oysters. Foxy, being bound by no vow, carried his woes to Keyte.
"I never come across such nonsense in my life. They've tiled the lodge, inner and outer guard, all complete, and then they get to work, keen as mustard.""But what's it all for?" asked the ex-Troop Sergeant-Major.
"To learn their drill. You never saw anything like it. They begin after I've dismissed 'em--practisin' tricks; but out into the open they will _not_ come--not for ever so. The 'ole thing is pre-posterous. If you're a cadet-corps, _I_ say, be a cadet-corps, instead o' hidin' be'ind locked doors.""And what do the authorities say about it?"
"That beats me again." The Sergeant spoke fretfully. "I go to the 'Ead an' 'e gives me no help. There's times when I think he's makin' fun o' me. I've never been a Volunteer-sergeant, thank God--but I've always had the consideration to pity 'em.
I'm glad o' that."
"I'd like to see 'em," said Keyte. "From your statements, Sergeant, I can't get at what they're after.""Don't ask me, Major! Ask that freckle-faced young Corkran. He's their generalissimo."One does not refuse a warrior of Sobraon, or deny the only pastry-cook within bounds. So Keyte came, by invitation, leaning upon a stick, tremulous with old age, to sit in a corner and watch.
"They shape well. They shape uncommon well," he whispered between evolutions.
"Oh, this isn't what they're after. Wait till I dismiss 'em."At the "break-off" the ranks stood fast. Perowne fell out, faced them, and, refreshing his memory by glimpses at a red-bound, metal-clasped book, drilled them for ten minutes. (This is that Perowne who was shot in Equatorial Africa by his own men.) Ansell followed him, and Hogan followed Ansell. All three were implicitly obeyed. Then Stalky laid aside his Snider, and, drawing a long breath, favored the company with a blast of withering invective.
"'Old 'ard, Muster Corkran. That ain't in any drill," cried Foxy.
"All right, Sergeant. You never know what you may have to say to your men.--For pity's sake, try to stand up without leanin' against each other, you blear-eyed, herrin'-gutted gutter-snipes. It's no pleasure to me to comb you out. That ought to have been done before you came here, you--you militia broom-stealers.""The old touch--the old touch. _We_ know it," said Keyte, wiping his rheumy eyes.
"But where did he pick it up?"
"From his father--or his uncle. Don't ask me! Half of 'em must have been born within earshot o' the barracks." (Foxy was not far wrong in his guess.) "I've heard more back-talk since this volunteerin' nonsense began than I've heard in a year in the service.""There's a rear-rank man lookin' as though his belly were in the pawn-shop. Yes, you, Private Ansell," and Stalky tongue-lashed the victim for three minutes, in gross and in detail.
"Hullo!" He returned to his normal tone. "First blood to me. You flushed, Ansell.
You wriggled."
"Couldn't help flushing," was the answer. "Don't think I wriggled, though.""Well, it's your turn now." Stalky resumed his place in the ranks.
"Lord, Lord! It's as good as a play," chuckled the attentive Keyte. Ansell, too, had been blessed with relatives in the service, and slowly, in a lazy drawl--his style was more reflective than Stalky's--descended the abysmal depths of personality.
"Blood to me!" he shouted triumphantly. "You couldn't stand it, either." Stalky was a rich red, and his Snider shook visibly.
"I didn't think I would," he said, struggling for composure, "but after a bit I got in no end of a bait. Curious, ain't it?""Good for the temper," said the slow-moving Hogan, as they returned arms to the rack.
"Did you ever?" said Foxy, hopelessly, to Keyte.
"I don't know much about volunteers, but it's the rummiest show I ever saw. I can see what they're gettin' at, though. Lord! how often I've been told off an' dressed down in my day! They shape well--extremely well they shape.""If I could get 'em out into the open, there's nothing I couldn't do with 'em, Major. Perhaps when the uniforms come down, they'll change their mind."Indeed it was time that the corps made some concession to the curiosity of the school. Thrice had the guard been maltreated and thrice had the corps dealt out martial law to the offender. The school raged. What was the use, they asked, of a cadet-corps which none might see? Mr. King congratulated them on their invisible defenders, and they could not parry his thrusts. Foxy was growing sullen and restive. A few of the corps expressed openly doubts as to the wisdom of their course; and the question of uniforms loomed on the near horizon. If these were issued, they would be forced to wear them.
But, as so often happens in this life, the matter was suddenly settled from without.
