THE BRUSHWOOD BOY
and no court martials pending. They scattered themselves among their friends, singing the praises of their lieutenant and looking for causes of offense.
"How did you do it, young un?" the adjutant asked.
"Oh, I sweated the beef off 'em, and then I sweated some muscle on to 'em. It was rather a lark."
"If that 's your way of lookin' at it, we can give you all the larks you want. Young Davies is n't feelin' quite fit, and he 's next for detachment duty. Care to go for him?"
"'Sure he would n't mind? I don't want to shove myself forward, you know."
"You need n't bother on Davies's account. We 'll give you the sweepin's of the corps, and you can see what you can make of 'em."
"All right," said Cottar. "It's better fun than loafin' about cantonments."
"Rummy thing," said the adjutant, after Cottar had returned to his wilderness with twenty other devils worse than the first. "If Cottar only knew it, half the women in the station would give their eyes—confound 'em!—to have the young un in tow."
"That accounts for Mrs. Elery sayin' I was workin' my nice new boy too hard," said a wing commander.
"Oh, yes; and 'Why does n't he come to the band-stand in the evenings?' and 'Can't I get him to make up a four at tennis with the Hammon girls?'" the adjutant snorted. "Look at young Davies makin' an ass of himself over mutton-dressed-as-lamb old enough to be his mother!"
"No one can accuse young Cottar of runnin' after
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