"Fighting again," said he. "I'll report you to my father, and
he'll report you to the Colour-Sergeant."

"What's that to you?" said Jakin with an unpleasant dilation of
the nostrils.

"Oh! nothing to me. You'll get into trouble, and you've been up
too often to afford that."

"What the Hell do you know about what we've done?" asked Lew the
Seraph. "You aren't in the Army, you lousy, cadging civilian."

He closed in on the man's left flank.

"Jes' 'cause you find two gentlemen settlin' their diff'rences
with their fistes you stick in your ugly nose where you aren't
wanted. Run 'ome to your 'arf-caste slut of a Ma - or we'll give
you what-for," said Jakin.

The man attempted reprisals by knocking the boys' heads together.
The scheme would have succeeded had not Jakin punched him
vehemently in the stomach, or had Lew refrained from kicking his
shins. They fought together, bleeding and breathless, for half an
hour, and, after heavy punishment, triumphantly pulled down their
opponent as terriers pull down a jackal.

"Now," gasped Jakin, "I'll give you what-for." He proceeded to
pound the man's features while Lew stamped on the outlying
portions of his anatomy. Chivalry is not a strong point in the
composition of the average drummer-boy. He fights, as do his