India with his dhobi, his barrack-sweeper, his table-servant, and his syce—or his share in them. If we did nothing in the world but our daily polishing, washing and ironing, we should be busy men. However! 'C'est la Legion!' And one won't live for ever. … You won't want any help with the rifle and bayonet, I suppose?"
"No, thanks, I've 'had some,' though I haven't handled a Lebel before," and Reginald Rupert settled down to work while Legionary John Bull proceeded with his toilet.
"Anything else you want to know?" enquired the latter, as he put a final polish upon his gleaming sword-bayonet. "You know enough not to cut your rifle-sling stropping your razor on it. … Don't waste your cake of soap making a candlestick of it. Too rare and precious here."
"Well, thanks very much; the more you tell me, the better for me, if it's not troubling you, Sir."
John Bull paused and looked at the recruit.
"Why do you call me 'Sir'?" he enquired.
"Why? … Because you are senior and a Sahib, I suppose," replied the youth.
"Thanks, my boy, but don't. I am just Légionnaire John Bull 11867, Soldier of the Second Class. You'll be a soldier of the First Class, and my senior in a few months, I hope. … I suppose you've assumed a nom de guerre too," replied the other, making a mental note that the recruit had served in India. He had already observed that he pointed his toes as he walked, and had a general cavalry bearing.
"Yes, I gave part of my own name; I'm 'Reginald Rupert' now. Didn't see why I should give my own.
