How would
you get their kit into the ship?"
"Fall 'em all in on the platform, march'em to the gangways," I answered,
"and trust to Heaven and a fatigue party to gather the baggage and drunks
in later."
"Ye-es, and have half of it sent by the wrong trooper. I know _that_
game," Verschoyle drawled. "We don't play it any more. Look!"
He raised his voice, and five companies, glistening a little and breathing
hard, formed at right angles to the sixth, each man embracing his sixty-
pound bag.
"Pack away," cried Verschoyle, and the great bean-bag game (I can compare
it to nothing else) began. In five minutes every bag was passed along
either arm of the T and forward down the sixth company, who passed,
stacked, and piled them in a great heap. These were followed by the
rifles, belts, greatcoats, and knapsacks, so that in another five minutes
the regiment stood, as it were, stripped clean.
"Of course on a trooper there'd be a company below stacking the kit away,"
said Verschoyle, "but that wasn't so bad."
"Bad!" I cried. "It was miraculous!"
"Circus-work--all circus-work!" said Pigeon. "It won't prevent 'em bein'
sick as dogs when the ship rolls." The crowd round us applauded, while the
men looked meekly down their self-conscious noses.
A little grey-whiskered man trotted up to the Boy.
"Have we made good, Bayley?" he said. "Are we _en tat de partir_?"
"That's what I shall report," said Bayley, smiling.
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