I must go on to the compound.

Back in--" "Five minutes ?" dashed in his questioner.
"No; that I shan't," said the young man smartly; "but I will not exceed fifteen.

Get out my rifle and belts, West." "All right," was the reply, and as the door closed the young clerk crossed to a plain deal cupboard in the corner of the office, threw open the broad door, and revealed an arms-rack with some twenty of the newest-pattern rifles standing ready for use, and bayonets and bandoliers to match each breech-loading piece.
A peculiarly innocent baby-like look came over his companion's face as he opened his desk and took out a little flat oblong mahogany case and said softly: "Going to play at soldiers again?
Only to think of Oliver West, Esquire, learning to shoulder arms and right-about face when a drill-sergeant barks at him." "Look here, Anson," cried the young fellow warmly; "is that meant for a sneer ?" "Me sneer ?" protested the plump-looking cherubic clerk.

"Oh dear, no! I never indulge in sneers, and I never quarrel, and I never fight." "Humph!" ejaculated the rifle-bearer.
"I only think it's all braggadocio nonsense for a lot of fellows to go wasting time drilling and volunteering when they might acquire such an accomplishment as this." As the speaker addressed his warlike companion he tapped the lid of his case, opened it, and revealed three joints of a flute lying snugly in purple-velvet fittings, and, taking them out, he proceeded to lick the ends all round in a tomcat sort of way, and screwed them together, evidently with a great deal of satisfaction to himself, for he smiled softly.
"Bah! It's a deal more creditable to be prepared to defend the place against the Boers.

Better join us, Anson." "Me?
No, thank you, unless you start a band and make me bandmaster." "We shall want no music," said West, laughing.