'But why on earth did you do it?' The Infant was shouting. 'You know
what it means nowadays.'

'Well, sir,' said Bobby Trivett, the taller of the two, 'Wontner talks
too much, for one thing. He didn't join till he was twenty-three, and,
besides that, he used to lecture on tactics in the ante-room. He said
Clausewitz was the only tactician, and he illustrated his theories with
cigar-ends. He was that sort of chap, sir.'

'And he didn't much care whose cigar-ends they were,' said Eames, who
was shorter and pinker.

'And then he _would_ talk about the 'Varsity,' said Bobby. 'He got a
degree there. And he told us we weren't intellectual. He told the
Adjutant so, sir. He was just that kind of chap, sir, if you
understand.'

Stalky and I backed behind a tall Japanese jar of chrysanthemums and
listened more intently.

'Was all the Mess in it, or only you two?' The Infant demanded, chewing
his moustache.

'The Adjutant went to bed, of course, sir, and the Senior Subaltern said
he wasn't going to risk his commission--they're awfully down on ragging
nowadays in the Service--but the rest of us--er--attended to him,'
said Bobby.

'Much?' The Infant asked. The boys smiled deprecatingly.