and thus amassed money.

On this particular day there was dissension in the camp. They had just
been convicted afresh of smoking, which is bad for little boys who use
plug-tobacco, and Lew's contention was that Jakin had 'stunk so 'orrid
bad from keepin' the pipe in pocket,' that he and he alone was
responsible for the birching they were both tingling under.

'I tell you I 'id the pipe back o' barracks,' said Jakin pacifically.

'You're a bloomin' liar,' said Lew without heat.

'You're a bloomin' little barstard,' said Jakin, strong in the
knowledge that his own ancestry was unknown.

Now there is one word in the extended vocabulary of barrack-room abuse
that cannot pass without comment. You may call a man a thief and risk
nothing. You may even call him a coward without finding more than a
boot whiz past your ear, but you must not call a man a bastard unless
you are prepared to prove it on his front teeth.

'You might ha' kep' that till I wasn't so sore,' said Lew sorrowfully,
dodging round Jakin's guard.

'I'll make you sorer,' said Jakin genially, and got home on Lew's
alabaster forehead. All would have gone well and this story, as the
books say, would never have been written, had not his evil fate
prompted the Bazar-Sergeant's son, a long, employless man of
five-and-twenty, to put in an appearance after the first round. He was
eternally in need of money, and knew that the boys had silver.

'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.