"Hold on to him just a minute more, please. I've something to say to him." With this energetic direction, Roger's own hands relaxed their grasp on Bixton. "Now, listen to me," he continued, fixing a steely gaze on the man. "If you know when you're well off, you'll behave yourself when the fellows let go of you. I don't know what all this is about, and I don't care. Just by pure luck you've escaped the sergeant. If he'd come in here as I did and seen you two fighting, you'd both be in the guard-house by now. He's likely to come in any minute, so watch yourself. That's all. Break away, boys." Released, Bixton shot up from his cot like a jack-in-the-box. "Trying to screen your pet, are you?" he sputtered. "Well, you can't. He's going to get his, all right, the minute the sarge hits the squad-room. I'll teach that pasty-faced hulk a thing or two!" For all his bluster, he made no attempt to attack either Roger or his companions. "Better hold your tongue," advised Roger dryly, looking the bully squarely in the eye. "It takes two to make a fight, you know. I wouldn't bank too much on the sergeant's seeing it differently. Come on, fellows. Leave him to think it over." Roger turned away, followed by an extremely disgusted trio of young men. He did not consider it necessary to enjoin them to silence. Bixton's threat to tell tales to the sergeant had merely put him in deep disfavor with them. In the Army or out, no self-respecting man will countenance a tale-bearer. Roger went over to Ignace, who had now slumped down on his cot in an attitude of utter dejection. He had hard work to keep from smiling. He did not doubt for an instant that Ignace had had just cause for his outbreak. Nevertheless, he put on an air of severity that he was far from feeling. "What started this fight?" he asked sharply. "Didn't Bob and I both warn you not to notice that fellow? Do you know where you'll land if the sergeant hears of this? You'll land in the guard-house for a month, maybe. I shouldn't be very sorry for you, if you did. Get up and let me brush you off. Your uniform's covered with dust." Without a word Ignace meekly stood up. Reaching under his own cot for his clothes brush, Roger put it into energetic use on his now chastened Brother. "I'm surprised at you," he rebuked, between strokes. "You need a keeper, Iggy." "So am I the bad one," Ignace agreed mournfully. "But I feel to kill w'en that----" English failing him, he paused, then added a string of Polish words which Roger could only guess at as not being complimentary to Bixton.