exclaimed, with a little laugh that was mystifying to his pupil.
"Not a bit—for I told him."
"What did you tell him?"
Once more, for a few seconds, with his conscious eyes in his instructor's, the young man hung fire.
"Why, what we spoke of a few hours ago. The appearance he'd present of not having—" The honest youth faltered a moment, then brought it out: "The military temperament, don't you know? But do you know what he said to that?" young Lechmere went on.
"Damn the military temperament!" the crammer promptly replied.
Young Lechmere stared. Mr. Coyle's tone left him uncertain if he were attributing the phrase to Wingrave or uttering his own opinion, but he exclaimed:
"Those were exactly his words!"
"He doesn't care," said Mr. Coyle.
"Perhaps not. But it isn't fair for him to abuse us fellows. I told him it's the finest temperament in the world, and that there's nothing so splendid as pluck and heroism."
