Clarence had just finished this when there came to his ear the faint
note of a tarantula singing to its young.

He looked up. Opposite him, at the next table, was seated a youth of
fifteen, of a slightly grubby aspect. He was eyeing Clarence closely.

Clarence took off his spectacles, polished them, and replaced them on
his nose. As he did so, the thin gruffle of the tarantula sounded once
more. Without changing his expression, Clarence cautiously uttered the
deep snarl of a sand-eel surprised while bathing.

It was sufficient. The other rose to his feet, holding his right hand
on a line with his shoulder, palm to the front, thumb resting on the
nail of the little finger, and the other three fingers upright.

Clarence seized his hat by the brim at the back, and moved it swiftly
twice up and down.

The other, hesitating no longer, came over to his table.

"Pip-pip!" he said, in an undertone.

"Toodleoo and God save the King!" whispered Clarence.

The mystic ceremony which always takes place when two Boy Scouts meet
in public was complete.

"Private Biggs of the Eighteenth Tarantulas, sir," said the boy
respectfully, for he had recognised Clarence.