“Oh, that’s right enough, but what about marchin’ in public?” said Hogan, not foreseeing that three years later he should die in the Burmese sunlight outside Minhla Fort. “Afraid the uniform won’t suit your creamy complexion?” McTurk asked with a villainous sneer. “Shut up, Turkey. You aren’t goin’ up for the Army.” “No, but I’m goin’ to send a substitute. Hi! Morrell an’ Wake! You two fags by the arm-rack, you’ve got to volunteer.” Blushing deeply--they had been too shy to apply before--the youngsters sidled towards the Sergeant. “But I don’t want the little chaps--not at first,” said the Sergeant disgustedly. “I want--I’d like some of the Old Brigade--the defaulters--to stiffen ’em a bit.” “Don’t be ungrateful, Sergeant. They’re nearly as big as you get ’em in the Army now.” McTurk read the papers of those years and could be trusted for general information, which he used as he used his “tweaker.” Yet he did not know that Wake minor would be a bimbashi of the Egyptian Army ere his thirtieth year. Hogan, Swayne, Stalky, Perowne, and Ansell were deep in consultation by the vaulting-horse, Stalky as usual laying down the law. The Sergeant watched them uneasily, knowing that many waited on their lead. “Foxy don’t like my recruits,” said McTurk, in a pained tone, to Beetle. “You get him some.” Nothing loath, Beetle pinioned two more fags--each no taller than a carbine. “Here you are, Foxy. Here’s food for powder. Strike for your hearths an’ homes, you young brutes--an’ be jolly quick about it.” “Still he isn’t happy,” said McTurk. “For the way we have with our Army Is the way we have with our Navy.” Here Beetle joined in. They had found the poem in an old volume of “Punch,” and it seemed to cover the situation: “An’ both of ’em led to adversity, Which nobody can deny!” “You be quiet, young gentlemen. If you can’t ’elp--don’t ’inder.” Foxy’s eye was still on the council by the horse. Carter, White, and Tyrrell, all boys of influence, had joined it. The rest fingered the rifles irresolutely. “Wait a shake,” cried Stalky. “Can’t we turn out those rotters before we get to work?” “Certainly,” said Foxy. “Any one wishful to join will stay ’ere. Those who do not so intend will go out, quietly closin’ the door be’ind ’em.” Half a dozen of the earnest-minded rushed at them, and they had just time to escape into the corridor. “Well, why don’t you join?” Beetle asked, resettling his collar. “Why didn’t you?” “What’s the good? We aren’t goin’ up for the Army. Besides, I know the drill--all except the manual, of course. ’Wonder what they’re doin’ inside?”