"There you go," said the expert, with gloomy triumph. "If you say that
sort of thing at Eckleton, you'll get jolly well sat on, by Jove!"

"Bai Jove, old chap!" murmured the younger brother, "we're devils in
the Forty-twoth!"

The other, whose chief sorrow in life was that he could not get the
smaller members of the family to look with proper awe on the fact that
he had just passed into Sandhurst, gazed wistfully at the speaker,
but, realising that there was a locked door between them, tried no
active measures.

"Well, anyhow," he said, "you'll soon get it knocked out of you,
that's one comfort. Look here, if you do get scrapping with anybody,
don't forget all I've taught you. And I should go on boxing there if I
were you, so as to go down to Aldershot some day. You ought to make a
fairly decent featherweight if you practise."

"All right."

"Let's know when Eckleton's playing Haileybury, and I'll come and look
you up. I want to see that match."

"All right."

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Tom."