'My orders are, I am to give the name of anybody who interferes 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 orders are, not to talk except to explain my orders—they'll lick me if I do.'
M'Turk 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.'
