"But they’re schule laddies. Hooever, that disnae maitter. I’ll get ye in training tae box Curly Broon, the ex-champion o’ the Garrison." "Richt ye are." "But mind ye, Beefy," said Spud solemnly, "you’ve tae dae whut I tell ye." "Certainly." "Noo, the first thing you’ve got tae dae is tae haund owre yer piy on piy-days." "Whut fur?" "Tae get beef-steaks, kippers, an’ four ale—that’s the stuff tae get yer muscles up." This and other arrangements were duly completed. In the evening it was publicly announced that Beefy was in training to fight the champion named. The training was somewhat rigorous. After five gallops round the barrack square, Spud applied a hose-pipe to the body of his man. Then coarse towels were used, and now and again Beefy’s limbs were scoured with dripping and bath-brick. As he was a little weak in the joints, a touch of blacking was painted round "tae keep oot the cauld." Minor contests were got up in the meantime, and in all these it was arranged to let Beefy have the knock-out blow. This whetted his ardour, and when he was informed that a belt and thirty shillings was to be the prize at the great contest, he became doubly keen. One Wednesday afternoon, when the officers were having a lawn-tennis party on the green, Spud called his man into the training quarters. There he daubed the usual blacking on his knee and ankle joints, rubbed ham fat on the remainder of his body; next dressed him up in a comic harrier kit, decorated with a skull and cross-bones. "Noo, Beefy, d’ye see yon green whaur the ladies an’ officers are haein’ tea an’ tennis?" "Ay." "Weel, ye’ve tae gallop roon’ that twenty times wife-beating stoppin’." "Richt ye are, Spud." "Ready?" "Ay." "Go." Off went the poor, unsuspecting mortal. As soon as he started, a hundred waiting heads popped out of the windows to see the fun. Meantime Beefy had reached the green, and, true to his trust, commenced to gallop round. The colonel’s wife spotted him first. The awful apparition sent her pale. Mrs M’Haddie, the Provost’s wife, let out a shriek, but nearly all the young ladies and subalterns burst into peals of laughter. Colonel Corkleg, however, fumed and cursed like Marlborough’s troops in Flanders. "Stop——" "Who——" "What——" "Why——" shrieked the old commander, as he pursued Beefy round the green.