The Guard is hung up:
distinctly so. Old Vee will have to cut his way through. What a pernicious
amount of blank the kids seem to have!"
It was quite a respectable roar of battle that rolled among the hillocks
for ten minutes, always out of our sight. Then we heard the "Cease Fire"
over the ridge.
"They've sent for the Umpires," the Board School boy squeaked, dancing on
one foot. "You've been hung up, Sir. I--I thought the sand-pits 'ud stop
you."
Said one of the jerseyed hobbledehoys at the gun, slipping on his coat:
"Well, that's enough for this afternoon. I'm off," and moved to the
railings without even glancing towards the fray.
"I anticipate the worst," said Bayley with gravity after a few minutes.
"Hullo! Here comes my disgraced corps!"
The Guard was pouring over the ridge--a disorderly mob--horse, foot, and
guns mixed, while from every hollow of the ground about rose small boys
cheering shrilly. The outcry was taken up by the parents at the railings,
and spread to a complete circle of cheers, handclappings, and waved
handkerchiefs.
Our Eighth District private cast away restraint and openly capered. "We
got 'em! We got 'em!" he squealed.
The grey-green flood paused a fraction of a minute and drew itself into
shape, coming to rest before Bayley. Verschoyle saluted.
"Vee, Vee," said Bayley. "Give me back my legions. Well, I hope you're
proud of yourself?"
"The little beasts were ready for us.
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