"No prep., either, O ye incipient drunkards," said McTurk, "and it's
trig night, too. Hullo! Here's our dear friend Foxy. More tortures,
Foxibus?"

"I've brought you something to eat, young gentlemen," said the
Sergeant from behind a crowded tray. Their wars had ever been waged
without malice, and a suspicion floated in Foxy's mind that boys who
allowed themselves to be tracked so easily might, perhaps, hold
something in reserve. Foxy had served through the Mutiny, when early
and accurate information was worth much.

"I--I noticed you 'adn't 'ad anything to eat, an' I spoke to Gumbly,
an' he said you wasn't exactly cut off from supplies. So I brought up
this. It's your potted 'am tin, ain't it, Mr. Corkran?"

"Why, Foxibus, you're a brick," said Stalky. "I didn't think you had
this much--what's the word, Beetle?"

"Bowels," Beetle replied, promptly. "Thank you, Sergeant. That's young
Carter's potted ham, though."

"There was a C on it. I thought it was Mr. Corkran's. This is a very
serious business, young gentlemen. That's what it is. I didn't know,
perhaps, but there might be something on your side which you hadn't
said to Mr. King or Mr. Prout, maybe."

"There is. Heaps, Foxibus." This from Stalky through a full mouth.

"Then you see, if that was the case, it seemed to me I might represent