ting
Krool.

"A bit o' lip to Colonel Stafford, ma'am," answered one of the guard.
"He's got a tongue like a tanner's vat, that goozer. Wants a lump o'
lead in 'is baskit 'e does."

"'E done a good turn at Hetmeyer's Kopje," added the Second. "If it
hadn't been for 'im the S.A.'s would have had a new Colonel"--he jerked
his head towards the house, from which came the murmur of men's voices
talking earnestly.

"Whatever 'e done it for, it was slim, you can stake a tidy lot on
that, ma'am," interjected the First. "He's the bottom o' the sink, this
half-caste Boojer is."

The Second continued: "If I 'ad my way 'e'd be put in front at the next
push-up, just where the mausers of his pals would get 'im. 'E's done a
lot o' bitin' in 'is time--let 'im bite the dust now, I sez. I'm fair
sick of treatin' that lot as if they was square fighters. Why, 'e'd
fire on a nurse or an ambulanche, that tyke would."

"There's lots like him in yonder," urged the First, as a hand was
jerked forward towards the hills, "and we're goin' to get 'em this
time--goin' to get 'em on the shovel. Their schanses and their kranzes
and their ant-bear dugouts ain't goin' to help them this mop-up. We're
goin' to get the tongue in the hole o' the buckle this time. It's over
the hills and far away, and the Come-in-Elizas won't stop us. When the
howitzers with their nice little balls of lyddite physic get opening
their bouquets to-morrow--"

"Who says to-morrow?" demanded the Second.

"I says to-morrow. I know. I got ears, and 'im that 'as ears to 'ear
let 'im 'ear--that's what the Scripture saith. I was brought up on the
off side of a vicarage."

He laughed eagerly at his own joke, chuckling till his comrade followed
up with a sharp challenge.

"I bet you never heard nothin' but your own bleatin's--not about wot
the next move is, and w'en it is."

The First made quick retort. "Then you lose your bet, for I 'eard
Colonel Byng get 'is orders larst night--w'en you was sleepin' at your
post, Willy. By to-morrow this time you'll see the whole outfit at it.
You'll see the little billows of white rolling over the hills--that's
shrapnel. You'll hear the rippin', zippin', zimmin' thing in the air
wot makes you sick; for you don't know who it's goin' to 'it. That's
shells. You'll hear a thousand blankets being shook--that's mausers and
others. You'll see regiments marching out o' step, an' every man on his
own, which is not how we started this war, not mu