"Halt!" he cried.
They stood as one man, all gleaming eyes and gleaming teeth. They were
all a good head taller than the Englishman who commanded them, but they
looked upon him with reverence, as a being half divine.
"Now, cheer, you beggars, cheer!" he cried. "Three cheers for the King!
Hip, hip--"
"Hooray!" came in hoarse chorus from the assembled troop. It sounded
like a war cry.
"Hip, hip--" yelled the Englishman again.
And again "Hooray!" came the answering yell.
"Hip, hip--" for the third time from the man with the sword.
And for the third time, "Hooray!" from the deep-chested troopers halted
in the blazing sunshine.
The British officer turned about with an odd smile quivering at the
corners of his mouth. There was an almost maternal tenderness about it.
He sheathed his sword.
"You beauties!" he murmured softly. "You beauties!" Then aloud, "Very
good, sergeant! Dismiss them! Come along, Monty! Let's go and have a
drink."
He linked his arm in that of the silent onlooker, and drew him into the
little hut of rough-hewn timber which was dignified by the name, printed
in white letters over the door, of "Officers' Quarters.
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