"Yes, Jerry," said Dick, dismally; "but I ran away like a coward, and that was like a tacit confession of guilt."

"Like a what confession o' guilt?"

"Silent."

"No, sir: you said something else."

"Tacit, man—tacit."

"Oh, was it, sir. Well, if you say it was tacit, I 'spose it was. Never heered o' that sort o' confession before; it was always open confession. But, as I was a-saying, one day I thinks as I just said; next day it's all the other way. I don't want to put you out o' heart, sir; but, as you very well know, being quite a scholar, and having read o' these things lots o' times, there's an old saying about possession being nine points of the law. He's got possession tight, and, if you go and tell him he must give it up now, he'll say—"

"Well, what, Jerry?"

"Don't like to tell you, sir, for fear of giving offence."

"Speak out, man; speak out, and don't say 'sir' to me again while we are equals here in the army."

"Ekals, sir? Bein' both in the ranks don't make us ekal."

"But it must not be known at present, and if you keep calling me 'sir' you may ruin my prospects."

"All right, then; I won't say it—I'll think it, and that'll make it easier, because I can think the other the same time."

"What other?"

"The Richard. I shall allus say 'S'Richard' to myself."

"Very well, do. But, mind—I trust you."

"And you may, sir. It seems to me—as I was going to say—if you won't be offended—"

"Go on, man," cried Richard; "nothing will offend me now."

"Oh! won't it? You're as big a honourable gent now as ever you was; but, if you was to go to your cousin, sir, he'd call you a impostor."

"I'm afraid so, Jerry."

"And, if you turn nasty with him, he'll tell you to go down in the country there, and look at your grave."

Dick was silent.

"But don't you be downhearted, sir. You shall have your rights. What d'ye say to sending a petition to the Queen? I'm told that she's a very nice old lady, when you know her."

Dick laughed.

"Why should she believe me?"

"Because you're a gent, sir. Anybody could see that with half a heye. But, look here, sir, there—"

"Will you leave off saying 'sir'? I am Dick Smithson."

"Oh, very well, Dick Smithson. There must be a way out of the wood. What do you say to me killing him—by accident?"

"I say, talk sense, man!"

"Right; I will. I wish I was in your regiment, though. One could see you oft'ner like, and settle things with you. I s'pose if I was to desert and 'list in yours, they'd make a row about it?"

"No doubt about that, Jerry."

"There wouldn't be no harm. I should only have changed from one regiment to another."

"You know enough about a soldier's duties to the colours, man. But I wish you were in the 205th with all my heart."

"And in your company? I could valet you just as I used to."

"Nonsense! I'm not in any company; and for me to have a servant would be impossible as well as absurd."

"Well, I can't see as it would be absurd, because you, being a gent, ought to have your servant. But, to come back to my being in your regiment—ain't there no way of managing it?"

"I don't know, Jerry. Officers exchange."

"There you are: allus a way out of a difficulty, if you can find it. Officers exchange; why shouldn't privates? I could be no end o' use to you, Dick Smithson. S'pose we try?"

Dick laughed, and shook his head.

"Impossible, Jerry! We must be content as we are for the present, and meet now and then, and talk matters over till I see my way to get out of this position."

And it was in this way that they parted.

About a week later Dick was summoned to the lieutenant's rooms; and, upon reaching them, it was quite plain that something was wrong. For Lacey looked black as thunder as he walked up and down.

"What have I done to offend him?" thought Dick, as he waited for the young officer to speak.

"Sit down!" growled Lacey; and Dick obeyed.

"It's beyond bearing!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "I'll clean my own boots, and brush my own clothes. I'm sick of it!"

"Nothing to do with me," thought Dick; and he ventured a remark.

"Can I help you in any way, sir?"

"No—yes; play something soothing to me. I'm put out. No, don't. It's like making a fool of myself."

Dick thought so, too, but he did not say anything; while the lieutenant went on pacing the room for a few minutes, and then faced round.

"What do you think he has done now?"

"Who, sir—the colonel?"

"Bah! no: that idiot servant of mine?"

"Broke something, sir?"

"No!" roared the lieutenant; "I wish he had—his neck! Can I trust you, Smithson?"

Dick bowed.

"Yes; one can confide in you, Smithson. You remember—er—er—a little adventure of ours—the serenade?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"I hardly care to refer to it, Smithson; but, as I think I said before, I always feel as if I can trust you."

Dick bowed again, and felt disposed to laugh; but his face was extra-serious as the lieutenant went on—

"The fact is, we made a great mistake, Smithson, and that duet was played under the wrong window. There is an aunt there—and—and—she is not young."

"I presumed so, sir, from the voice," said Dick, for the young officer waited.

"There is no presumption about it, Smithson; you were quite right. She is still single. Miss—well—er—since then—er—we have met."

"You and the aunt, sir?"

"Smithson, this is no matter for ribald jest," said the lieutenant, sharply.

"I beg pardon, sir; I meant to be quite serious."

"I thank you, Smithson. You will grasp what I mean when you grow older. You may come to feel as I have felt for months past."

"I hope not!" thought Dick.

"I will continue, Smithson. We have met since, more than once; and yesterday I sent that idiot with a note."

"And he gave it to the wrong person, sir?"

"What! You have heard?"

"Oh, no, sir; but it is what I should have expected him to do."

"You are quite right; and I ought to have known better. He took the letter, and delivered it to the aunt. Smithson, I am in agony! She has responded to me, thinking my words were meant for her. I walked by there an hour ago and saw her, and—oh, Smithson!—she smiled. What is to be done?"

Dick was silent for a minute, not knowing how to answer the question; then a way out of the difficulty came.

"I'll tell you, sir! You must discharge that fellow."

"I did, Smithson—at once. I was in such a rage that I kicked him; and I fear that there will be some trouble about that, if he reports it to his superior officer."

"Pooh! Give him half a sovereign, sir, and you'll hear no more about it."

"That's very good advice, Smithson. I wish I had your head."

"You want a good, clever, smart servant, sir," said Dick, who was breathless with excitement consequent upon his new idea.

"Yes, Smithson; but such a treasure seems to be unobtainable."

"I don't know—I think I could find you such a man, sir."

"You could! Oh, no; I want a regular valet, Smithson. I have grown sadly indolent, and I often wish a war would break out to rouse me up."

"This is a regular valet, sir."

"But—really, Smithson, I'm afraid I'm very lazy—can he shave?"

"Oh, yes, sir, and cut hair admirably."

"Indeed? A friend of yours?"

"Well, sir, not exactly; I used to know him."

"Whose company is he in?"

"Unfortunately, sir, he is not in this regiment."

"Smithson! how can you?" cried the lieutenant in lachrymose tones. "What is the use of raising my hopes to dash them down? Is he a man of bad character who wants to join?"

"No, sir; he is a soldier already; but he is in the 310th, sir—the regiment we 'played in' the other day."

"In the 310th?" said the lieutenant, thoughtfully.

"And, of course, not available, sir."

"Is he anyone else's servant?"

"He is simply a private, sir."

"Then—I don't know, though. Perhaps I might—or I could—I—how tiresome!"

For at that moment Dick sprang from his seat, as he heard steps outside.

"You at home, Lacey?" cried a voice.

"Yes: come in."

As the door opened, the lieutenant said excitedly—

"What is this man's name?"

"Jeremiah Brigley, sir;" and the young officer carefully put down the name before Dick retreated and took his leave, the new arrival saying:

"Here, Smithson, I shall want you to give me some lessons, too."

The next minute Dick was crossing the barrack yard to reach his quarters, wondering whether it would be possible for Jerry to be exchanged, and meeting the bandmaster, who said rather gruffly—

"Where have you been, sir?"

"To Mr Lacey's, sir."

"Ha! I hope I shall find out that this is the truth."

Dick flushed.

"There is too much lesson-giving, and the band practice is neglected. Be good enough to recollect, sir, that I have reported your conduct."

"I don't understand you, sir," replied Dick.

"I allude to that episode, sir, when you absented yourself from the practice without leave. Your conduct is not what it should be, sir. And recollect this: that a man picked up, as you were, in the street ought to be doubly careful when he has got a lift in life; so have a care, sir—have a care."

"I am sorry I absented myself, sir," began Dick, but Wilkins raised himself on tiptoe, and interrupted him.

"Say 'stopped away,' sir. Leave 'absented' to your officers. There's too much favouritism in this regiment; but I warn you, sir: have a care—have a care."

He strutted away, arranging the few thin bits of hair about his ears, leaving Dick looking after him.

"Oh, you stupid little man!" muttered Dick, who then went to his quarters to think out what he had better do. But, try hard as he would, he could not think it out; for the more he thought, the more it seemed to him that he had completely obliterated himself by his foolish act— that Sir Richard Frayne was dead to the world and Dick Smithson reigned in his stead.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

FINDING A LEECH.

Dick Smithson was busy, a few mornings later, working with his hands as well as his brain. The latter could not succeed in its task; for, the more he thought, the more desperate grew the confusion in his mind; and, by way of relief, he tried hard to dismiss the whole business, but only to find that it would not go.

His hands were more successful; for he had polished his sword, pipe-clayed his belt, gloves, and the little leather pouch which held his music-cards, and now, with a brush ready, he was performing a task which looked like a puzzle, for he was passing the gilt buttons of his uniform through a hole in a flat stick, and then running them one after another along a slit.

He had heard someone enter the room; but he was too intent upon his work to look up, and he had just picked up the brush to begin polishing the buttons, now in a neat row, when a couple of hands were passed round him—one taking his jacket and button-stick, the other the brush, which was briskly applied, accompanied by a loud, hissing noise, such as an ostler makes, to blow away the dust, when grooming a horse.

"Jerry!" exclaimed Dick, wonderingly.

"Me it is, S'Rich—Dick Smithson," cried the man, cheerily.

"For goodness' sake, mind what you are saying."

"I will, sir—I will, Dick—but it is so hard to break off your old habits."

"And give me that brush. You must not go on like this."

"Why not?" cried Jerry; "I often do jobs for my mates. There's no rules again' that. Why, I could clean up, polish, and pipe-clay twice as fast as some of 'em."

"But what brings you here, Jerry?"

"Ah! that's it, S'Dick Smithson!" cried the man, with a smile of triumph. "It's all right; I'm taken in exchange."

"What!"

"They've swopped me, somehow. I don't know; but I don't belong to the Three-tenth no longer. I'm a Two-fifth, and, what's more, I'm Lieutenant Lacey's servant. I've been with him two days."

"And are you satisfied? Can you get on?"

"Satisfied ain't the word for it. I was never meant to go shouldering arms and making two legs of a long centipede, and crawling about. It's like getting back into real happiness. Waited table last night for the fust time. Didn't you see me?"

"I? No."

"I see you tootling away there on your floot, 'eavenly, but I couldn't catch your eye. 'Sides, I was strange there, and had to mind what I was about, 'tending to my master. It was a real treat!"

"And so you think you'll get on with him?"

"Get on with him! Why, I can do anything I like with him already! My word! they call red herrings sogers, and sogers red herrings, and he is a soft-roed un, and no mistake."

"Lieutenant Lacey is a thorough gentleman, Jerry," cried Dick, warmly.

"Every inch of him, Dick Smithson—mind, I'm a calling you that, Dick, but it's meant respectful—a thorough gent, every inch of him, and there's a good lot on him, too; but he is a bit slack-baked, you know. Why, if I liked, I could a'most gammon him into anything."

"I trust you will prove as good a servant to him as you were to—"

"Me," Dick was going to say, but he checked himself.

"You trust me for that, Dick Smithson, I will. But, really, it's shameful the way he's been neglected. He come and ketched me last night sitting on the floor cross-legged, fine-drawing a hole in his dress-vest, and he burst out a-laughing, good-humoured like.

"'Why, Brigley,' he says, 'I didn't know you were a tailor.'

"'More I am, sir,' I says; 'but a man as pretends to valet a gent, and can't draw up a tear, or put on a button, ain't worth calling a servant, sir,' I says.

"'I'm afraid my things have been very much neglected,' he says, and then he asked, 'What boots are those in a row?'

"'Some as I found in the closet, sir, all over mould.'

"'But they're not fit to wear, are they?'

"'Why not, sir?' I says. 'Look here, sir, that chap as you've had here ought to be flogged; I never see a gent's fit-out and accoutrements in such a state.'

"'They have been terribly neglected, my man,' he says, 'and I hope you'll put 'em right.'

"'You trust me, sir,' I says, 'and they shall be done proper, but it'll take me weeks yet. Your linen's shameful.'

"'Then I must get some new things.'

"'What for, sir?' I says. 'They're right enough. Leastwise, they will be. You leave 'em to me, sir.'

"'I will, my man,' he says.

"And then he sits down and sighs. Ever heard him sigh, sir?"

"Yes, often, Jerry."

"An' he can sigh! 'Tired, sir?' I says.

"'Yes, and low-spirited,' he says.

"I didn't say no more, but puts away the vest as I'd finished, all but pressing it. Then I takes out my cloth, gets his pair of ivory-back brushes, just takes off his dress-jacket, and puts the cloth round his neck, sets him up a bit, and then I brushed his head for about ten minutes—you know my way, sir?"

"Yes, Jerry; I recollect."

"And there he sat, with the wrinkles going out of his forrid, and a sort o' baby-like smile coming all over his face.

"'Find it fresh'ning, sir?' I says.

"'Heavenly,' he says.

"'You want a good shampoo, sir,' I says. 'There's a deal o' dandruff in your head.'

"'That's what the hairdresser said,' says he, an' he sighs again.

"'Oh, yes; I know,' says I; 'they allus do, and wants you to buy bottles o' their tintry-cum-fuldicus. You leave it to me, sir. Little white o' egg and borax, and a finish off with some good scented soap; and then if anyone sees some o' that stuff in your head, sir, just you tell me.'

"He's a very nice gent, sir—I mean Dick; but the way he's been neglected and preyed on by barbers and sich is shameful. Why, he's got stuff enough in his quarters to stock a shop."

"Then you think you'll get on with him, Jerry?"

"Think? Not me! You ask him if he'll let me go, and you'll see. I sent him out this morning pretty tidy to parade, quite early—and don't he like you to dress him—and when he come back, looking done-up, I was ready for him with a pick-me-up. You see there's a lot of him, and he want nootriment."

"'What's this?' he says.

"'Your lotion, sir,' I says, and he tasted it, and tasted it again, sipping, then mouthfulling, and sets the glass down, with a sigh.

"'What is it, Brigley?' he says.

"'Noo-lade egg, sir, noo milk, lump o' sugar, and half a glass o' sherry, well lathered up with a swizzle-stick.'

"'Hah!' he says, 'is there any more?'

"'No, sir,' I says; 'not this morning. Now then, sir,' I says; 'if you please?' And then I takes off his belts and his regimentals, gets him on the couch, and I rubs him and cracks him."

"You did what?" cried Dick.

"Massages him, sir; and him a-staring at me all the time. After that I shampoos and washes him, trims the pyntes off his hair, waxes his starshers, gives him a cigarette, and then I rejoices his heart."

"How?" said Dick, laughing.

"By telling on him the truth, sir."

"What truth?"

"I stood back and looked at him, and I says to him: 'There, sir; don't you feel like a new man?'

"Ah, yes! he says, with one o' those big mellingcholly sighs of his'n, which makes me think he's got something on his mind.

"'And now, sir,' I says, 'you look puffect.'

"'Oh, nonsense, man!' he says, sharply.

"'Begging your pardon, sir!' I says, 'you do!' and he says, sadly—

"'Well, Brigley, have it your own way; 'tis no fault of mine.'

"I see then as I oughtn't to say no more, for fear of his thinking I flattered him. But, really, he is as handsome and big a chap as ever I did see."

"Yes, he is good-looking, Jerry; but if you talk much like that you'll disgust him."

"An' I shan't talk to him like that again, Dick Smithson; and I shouldn't, then, only it was the honest truth. It's a pleasure to do up a gent like that! Why, I could win a prize with him at a show! But he is a soft one, really!—milk's nothing to him!"

"Never mind that, Jerry. You'll find him an excellent master."

"I know I shall, and thankful I am; for it's been a rough time with me lately, and it's refreshing to have to do for such a gent. He really is, though, the handsomest chap I ever see out of a picture, though he do make me laugh to find him such a hinfant. Think he could fight?"

"I think he's brave as a lion, Jerry; and that it would be awkward for anyone who roused him up."

"That's yer sort for me, sir. I call that real English."

"And he'd be clever enough, if put to the test. But he's well-off, and takes life easily. You've got a good master, Jerry; and you know it."

"I do, Dick Smithson; and I want him to know he's got a good servant."

"Oh, he'll find that out, Jerry. Yes! you were going to say something?"

"I were, sir—I mean Dick Smithson. Did you know as he was friends with your cousin?"

"No, surely not!"

"Fact, sir. He come to Mr Lacey's quarters this morning. I was sewing on buttons in the next room, and couldn't help hearing something about odds; and that set me up sharp, for I knows what odds mean—no one better."

"But you shouldn't have listened."

"I didn't, Dick Smithson; but I heered enough to show as S'Mark—I—I beg your pardon."

Dick started; but he said nothing, and Jerry went on.

"As your cousin's feeling his way with Mr Lacey—and, if he is, it means betting and play, and bleeding of him orful. Couldn't you give him a hint, as someone we knows ain't to be trusted?"

Dick was silent for a few moments, and then said between his teeth—

"No, Jerry. Mr Lacey—if my cousin is a scoundrel—must find it out for himself."

"But that seems hard," said Jerry.

"It will be hard for Mark Frayne if there's anything wrong. Mr Lacey is not such a—"

"Fool as he looks? that was what you was going to say. Well, I'm glad o' that."

And Jerry soon after took his leave, telling Dick not to be downhearted, for things would come right.

"Yes," muttered Jerry, "and the guv'nor jolly soon will find out about Mr Mark. If I was him, I'd lock up my money—and my young lady, too."



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DICK PIPES—HIS COUSIN DANCES.

A loud cough, the twinkling of Mr Wilkins' spectacles, and a peculiar clearing of the voice, which made Sergeant Brumpton, who had been hard at work making ominous sounds on the bombardon, turn his head and smile at Dick—then standing in his place waiting to begin—and making him lower his head to examine the music; for, if he had smiled there, just in front of the bandmaster, it must have been seen, and taken as an insult.

"I have just received a communication from the colonel," said Mr Wilkins. "We are to have a ball at the mess-room, and the 310th are coming. I shall have a few picked men from their band to make up, but, of course, ours will take the lead. Let me see: Granger, you'll get out your double-bass; Robson and Dean, violins; Boston, cornet—you lead clarionet and hautboy; Brown, bassoon. I suppose we must have you, Smithson—one flute will be enough. The 310th will furnish two violins and a 'cello. That ought to make a strong band."

The men who did not play stringed instruments, or such as were suitable for a ball-room, looked disappointed; and Sergeant Brumpton, as he sat with his huge instrument between his legs, looked down into its great brass bell-mouth and sighed.

That was news which set Dick's heart beating. The officers of the 310th would be there; he would be in the orchestra, and his cousin would be constantly coming close by where he was playing.

And Dick thought about their last meeting and the contemptuous, haughty way in which Mark had gazed in his eyes.

"Could he have recognised me," thought Dick; "or was it his manner only?"

There was a strange fascination in the idea of meeting Mark that was almost magnetic; but, at the same time, it was accompanied by a feeling akin to shrinking, which for the moment Dick cast aside as best he could.

He had no occasion to fear the encounter, he told himself; and from that moment he waited patiently for the evening.

There was plenty to do previously, for Wilkins insisted upon several band practices of the dance-music, greatly to the disgust of the better musicians, who were ready to play the pieces at sight.

Then the evening came. The mess-man had done his best; a tent-maker had come down from town to build a canvas hall, draped red and white; and a local man had fitted the marquee with gas and floor complete for a supper-room. Tempting refreshments were provided, and a nurseryman had contrived a natural garden here and there, not forgetting to make a cosy nest for the band. The officers of the two regiments meant to do the thing well, cost what it might, and the invitations had been looked upon as prizes for miles round.

There was an hour to wait before the first guests were likely to arrive, and Dick sat in the band-room low-spirited and dreamy; for the festivity seemed a trouble now, and he would have given anything to have been able to keep away.

Naturally, his principal thought was his cousin, but he more than once asked himself why he should trouble about Mark; for, possibly, he might not come, and, even if he did, they were not in the least likely to come face to face.

Still, the idea would return; and he was at his moodiest when the door opened and a familiar voice said:

"Ah! there you are."

"Jerry!"

"Jerry it is, Dick Smithson. I say, do go and have a look at him."

"At him?"

"Yes, the lieutenant; I've made a picture of him. New uniform fresh from the tailor's; I've shampooed him and brushed him, and scented him till he smells like a bed of flowers, and he's all in a nervous flutter as he sits there, afraid to smoke or do anything before the company come. Can't you go up and have a look?"

"No, Jerry; I should be disposed to laugh."

"That you would. I had hard work to keep from it myself; but he isn't to be laughed at either, for, without any gammon, he's the finest fellow I ever saw, and a real gentleman as well."

"Yes; I like him," said Dick, quietly.

"Three pairs of white kid gloves in his pockets and three scented handkerchiefs. He's got a buttonhole on; and I've got three more in water, to have ready for him during the evening. I'm to be waiting for him when he wants a fresh one. I say, Dick Smithson, there's going to be a special lady here to-night, I know."

"Very likely, Jerry. Such a man as he is will, of course, have someone he admires."

"Then you won't go and see him?"

Dick shook his head.

"He'd like it. He didn't say so; but he told me to be sure that you had plenty of refreshment. I'm to look after you. He said you'd have lots of work; so that you ought to be looked after."

"It's very kind of him," said Dick, with his eyes brightening at the idea of his having made a friend.

"And I shan't forget to attend to his orders. I say, go over to his quarters."

"What for? I've no excuse for going."

"Oh, yes; you have. He's on the committee. Go and ask him if he has any orders to give about the music."

"I am not the bandmaster, Jerry; but I will go. There's just time before going to the ball-room."

"That's right; I like pleasing anyone who behaves well to you."

There was none too much time, but Dick had only to walk into the orchestra with his flute-case under his arm; so, hurrying away, he ran across the barrack yard, entered the officers' quarters unquestioned, and made his way to the first floor.

"Come in!" came, in a gruff voice, in answer to a modest tap. "That you, Brigley?"

"No, sir; I came to see if you wished to send any message to Mr Wilkins about the music."

"Bother Wilkins!" growled the lieutenant. "I believe he'll make a muddle of it all. Can't you conduct, Smithson?"

"I, sir? Oh, no. I think it will go all right."

"I'm doubtful; but, look here—I want the music to be well-marked, and, if it's going wrong, you get the other fellows to help you. Keep it all well going."

"I will, sir."

"I've told Brigley to see that you chaps have plenty of supper and what you want to drink. I say, Smithson—"

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your thought of us."

"Thought of you; why, of course, thought of you. You fellows have to keep the thing going. But I say—"

"Yes, sir."

"Do I—er—do I look all right?"

The lieutenant rose, and took a turn up and down the room.

"Splendid, sir!"

"No, no; don't humbug, Smithson. Tell me the truth. It's a new uniform; does it fit all right?"

"I tell you it's splendid, sir! You couldn't look better. There will be no one in the room who can touch you."

"Think not?" said Lacey, dubiously.

"I'm sure of it, sir."

"Well, I'm glad you think so, Smithson. The colonel was here just now smoking one of those strong cigars of his. Do I smell of it?"

"I can smell scent, sir—nothing else."

"That's right. Well, he said something like you did; but I always get so nervous, and feel as if he was chaffing me. You see, I want to look well to-night. You know why, Smithson."

"Yes, sir; I can guess."

"Of course. She's coming."

"I guessed that, too, sir."

"I don't care much how I look, for dressing yourself up takes a lot of trouble, let alone the expense. I say, you do mean it, Smithson?"

"You may always believe me, sir," said Dick, quietly.

"Of course—I know that. I say, Smithson: I wish you were in the mess instead of the band."

Dick laughed feebly.

"Perhaps I'm best where I am, sir. But I must go now, and get in my place. It's close upon the time."

"By George, yes! I say, want a pair of white kids, Smithson? You'll find some in that box."

"Thanks; no, sir. I hope you'll have a pleasant evening."

"Thank you, Smithson. Keep them up to it with the waltzes."

Dick gave a hasty promise, and then hurried down and into the flower-decked vestibule, which was entered by a covered passage festooned with lamps. Then he crossed the temporary ball-room, with its well-waxed floor, took a glance at the great marquee laid out for supper, at another arranged for tea, coffee, and ices, with various cups for the gentlemen, and beyond that at another prepared for those who chose to smoke, the whole being lit up by a blaze of light, and draped here and there with military and naval flags and cleverly-designed trophies of arms.

It was but a passing glance, which filled Dick with a tingling of pleasure and disappointment, for he recalled the lieutenant's words about the mess. Then he hurried to his place, being the last to arrive, and found Wilkins glaring at him through his glasses.

"Late again, Smithson!" he said, harshly; and, as he spoke, the brazen voice of the clock told him he spoke falsely; for Dick was in his place to the moment, and joined in the rustling made by his comrades, as they arranged their music in accordance with the programme, and then waited patiently.

A few minutes later, the colonel and a group of officers came round to see that all was perfect, headed by the major and one of the captains, who had undertaken to see that the decorations were effective.

"Capital!" cried the colonel. "The band, with their scarlet and gold, amongst the flowers and palms, give the best bit of effect I have seen. Yes, and those colours hang well over them."

"Glad you're satisfied," said the major.

"More," said the colonel. "By the way, Wilkins, let your men keep on their caps for the first hour—it looks more effective. When the dancing is in full swing, you can do as you like."

"Yes, sir. What I had planned," said the bandmaster, obsequiously.

They moved on, and a quarter of an hour passed; then, according to arrangement, the brass band of the regiment struck up outside and played a selection, as the first carriages began to arrive, but only one set for fear of their strains interfering with those in the ball-room.

The first half-hour was devoted to a kind of reception, by which time the guests had grown thick enough to well fill the room, and then, punctual to the moment—dancing at nine—the band struck up, and the floor was covered with couples, the uniforms of the military and naval officers blending with the ladies' charming toilettes and flowers, and the few orthodox black dress-coats adding to, rather than detracting from, the general effect.

Dick's position at one end in the front gave him plenty of opportunity for seeing the dancers, and the simple music caused but little necessity for watching his notes, so that he was able to gaze to his heart's content at the kaleidoscopic throng, and before long had watched with some interest the tall figure of Lieutenant Lacey, wondering which of the ladies he danced with was the one they had serenaded that night.

He had settled upon one after the other, and credited the lieutenant with excellent taste; then believed he must be wrong, for, after dancing with his fourth partner—a tall, sweet-faced, graceful girl—he saw him lead her up to a thin, washed-out lady, of—well, middle age; and the next moment a sweet, silvery voice said—

"Pray, take aunt to have an ice, Lieutenant Lacey!"

The lieutenant bowed and smiled, offered his arm, and, as his partner took the elderly lady's place, the latter was led off.

"The lady of the serenade!" thought Dick, without hearing her voice.

Almost directly after, as Dick was arranging a fresh sheet of music on his desk, but watching the fair-haired, graceful girl at the same time, his heart suddenly gave a bound, for he saw the major approaching, with a handsome, manly-looking young officer, who, with a half-contemptuous smile, was listening to his companion's remarks.

They came on to where the young lady was seated not five yards away, and the next instant, as he stood there as if turned to stone, Dick heard every word spoken, and the major introducing Sir Mark Frayne to Miss Deane. Then they were left together, and Mark Frayne busily entered his name in three places upon the lady's programme, her name upon his own; after which he began creating the customary small talk, but at the same time seemed to be a good deal impressed by his new partner's personal appearance.

It might have been Dick's jealous anger which caused his thoughts to take this direction as he stood there, feeling his breath come short, and as if he must go out at once, clap his cousin on the shoulder, and say, "Here! I want to speak to you at once."

And all the while Mark was so close that nearly all his remarks and the lady's replies were perfectly audible.

As Dick still gazed, stern and forbidding-looking, Lacey came slowly back with the thin, elderly lady, and as Mark Frayne saw by his partner's look that someone was approaching, he turned sharply.

"Ah, Lacey, old fellow," he said, "I have just been securing Miss Deane for the next dance."

"Take off your cap!"

Lacey said something, but Dick did not hear what, and the niece rose to give up her place, and then accepted Mark Frayne's arm.

"Take off your cap, sir!"

"Don't forget I come next but one, Miss Deane," said Lacey.

"Oh, no; I will not forget," she replied, with a pleasant smile.

"Will you attend to me, and take—off—your—cap, sir?" came sharply from behind Dick, who started, coloured, and snatched off his cap, conscious now that the bandmaster was speaking to him, and the words had been heard by Mark Frayne and his partner, to whom Mark made some playful remark, at which she smiled, as they both gazed at the young bandsman.

Then, as Dick's eyes met his cousin's with an angry stare, the latter's countenance changed, and he gave an involuntary start, but tossed his head in a contemptuous manner the next moment as he passed on, bending down to say something to the lady.

Then tap—tap—tap went Wilkins' baton, the band played a short introduction, and then glided off into one of Waldteuffel's waltzes; and, as Dick played, the cold perspiration stood out upon his forehead, while his eyes followed the couple as they went on down one side of the long mess-room, passed across, and then easily and gracefully swung round and round as they approached. Once they were quite close, and then passed him so near that he could have stretched out his hand, leaned forward, and touched Mark Frayne, who, however, never once lifted his eyes all through the dance, evidently forgetful, in his efforts to make himself agreeable, of the countenance which had given him so sudden a shock.

For, after he had started on the waltz, he had dismissed the idea with one word—

"Absurd!"



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE ALARM.

Dance succeeded dance; the refreshment-room was visited in the intervals; and, as the various couples passed the musicians, scraps of their conversation told, from time to time, how great a success the ball was considered to be; while, among the faces, all looked bright and animated except two—those of Dick and Lieutenant Lacey—who, between the dances, came by the orchestra several times to attend to the two ladies seated near, but more often to the elderly lady alone.

For the big, handsome Adonis of the regiment was by no means happy. He told himself that he was not in the least jealous; but he had anticipated taking the lady of his choice in to supper and been thwarted by that lady's aunt, who had said, sweetly:

"I shall expect you to take me in to supper, Lieutenant Lacey. Sir Mark Frayne has kindly said that he will see to my niece."

As for Dick, he worked hard at his task, and tried to think of nothing else but the waltzes, polkas, and quadrilles; and, consequently, thought of them hardly at all, but of the handsome young officer in scarlet, who came again and again to where the Deanes were seated—the last time just as supper was announced, at the break between the two divisions of the music.

"Almost a pity to stop the dances," said Mark, as he offered his arm to Miss Deane. And Dick saw that the lady darted a deprecating look at Lacey, who offered his arm to the aunt, and joined in the long line of dancers trooping out to the great marquee, now opened for the first time by the drawing back of the heavy drapery which had hidden the interior from the guests.

For the officers had determined that there should be no scrambled-for, stand-up supper, but a comfortably-arranged meal, with seats for every guest; while now a hurried movement was made by the band to a fresh orchestra inside the marquee, which was reached by a ladder from the back, and a selection of operatic airs was commenced at once to the rattle of knife, fork, and plate, and jingle of glass.

The marquee was soon crowded; and from high up where he stood Dick had a good view of the prettiest part of the scene; while, as he played, his eyes wandered round and round in search of Mark, to find, after a time, that he had overlooked him: for he was seated with Miss Deane, almost below and to the right, while Lacey was with the aunt on the other side of the table—one of the four which reached from end to end.

Once he had made out where they were, Dick could hardly keep his eyes off his cousin, who was evidently, to the lady's annoyance, making himself far too attentive; while, more than once, it was plain to see from Lacey's lowering countenance that a storm was brewing.

But Lacey was a steward for the occasion, and more than once servants came up to him for orders and instructions; while Jerry, who was busily seeing to the wants of those at that end of the table, was also going about, apparently with messages to the colonel and major.

"What an abominable smell of gas!" said Wilkins, after a piece or two had been played.

"Yes, sir; I noticed it as we came up here first."

"Humph! the pipes not properly joined, I suppose," said Wilkins. "Play the next."

Then a selection from Sullivan's operas was played, but half-drowned by the noise from the tables.

"This gas is suffocating up here," said the bandmaster, calling attention to it again.

"Yes, sir; I wonder they don't grumble down below."

"Humph! all up here, and along the upper part of the tent," grumbled the bandmaster; and then his attention was taken off by the appearance of Jerry through the curtain of canvas opening upon the orchestra.

"Lieutenant Lacey, sir, says the band needn't play no more during supper; and there's refreshments all ready in the little tent outside."

"Oh, thanks!" cried Wilkins. "Bring your instruments and music, and then we needn't come up here again before we go to the ball-room. Halloa! you smell it?"

"Yes, sir," said Jerry, who had been sniffing loudly. "Someone's been turning on the gas here, and no mistake! Temp'ry pipes, I suppose."

"Doesn't it smell down below?"

"Yes, I did notice it a bit, sir, all along the tables; but nothing like this."

"Never mind; let's get out of it. Soon blow away."

Wilkins set the example, and hurried out and down the step-ladder, which took them outside, and, followed by the bandsmen, he made for the little tent where their supper was laid.

They had to pass the end of the great marquee, and Dick and Jerry, who were last, paused, while the latter drew the drapery a little on one side, holding it back before letting it fall after him.

"I must get back to my table, sir," he said. "Like a peep from here?"

Dick nodded and stood at the opening, gazing along the marquee toward the opening into the mess-room at the other end, the effect being very beautiful, with the long row of gaseliers and the vista of flags and red and white striped drapery running up to the narrow ridge of the roof.

But Dick saw nothing of this; his eyes sought the group right at the other end beneath the little elevated orchestra he had just left, and he was just making out where his cousin sat when there was a flash like sheet-lightning running along the upper part of the canvas, reaching from end to end. He felt himself thrust violently back, as he seemed to be struck with something heavy and soft; then there was a deep, dull report, as of thunder, and all was dark, while from where the marquee had stood there came wild shrieks, cries for help, and a strange babel of sounds, which, issuing from beneath what in the darkness looked like a chaotic sea, were for the most part smothered and strange.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A FIERY TRIAL.

It needed no explanation. Dick grasped in an instant, as he sprang to his feet, that the whole roof of the marquee had become filled with escaped gas, and that at last this had exploded, bursting up the canvas, which had fallen back with the chandeliers, drapery, flags, decorations, and broken poles on the gaily-dressed crowd within, burying them helplessly.

The shrieks and cries increased as Dick tore off back along the side of the fallen tent, heedless of the heaving and sinking of the canvas and the figures struggling out beneath the edges. For he had but one thought: to get in by the way he had come and try and help those he knew—Lacey and the tall, fair girl who had been seated there a few minutes before.

As he reached the mess-room end the smothered cries and shrieks were horrible; but people were struggling out fast now, and officers in uniform could be seen dragging ladies from beneath the canvas. In other places, knives were being plunged through and slits made from within, out of which hands appeared, and, the holes being enlarged, people were rapidly dragged out by the servants and soldiers who came hurrying up from the barrack yard and by those who had been outside listening.

And all the time, amidst the hubbub of cries, appeals, and groans, the canvas kept on heaving where the frightened, suffocating people beneath were struggling together now and fighting vainly to escape.

Suddenly one of the bandsmen put his cornet to his lips and blew a familiar call, with the result that a number of the soldiers fell into line. One of the escaped officers began to give short, sharp, decisive orders, and then, leading and directing the men, an attack was made upon the canvas ropes. Stakes were torn up, and great openings made, out of which numbers escaped—the ladies with their gay ball habiliments torn, their hair dishevelled, many of them to fall fainting and be borne into the ball-room by the side entrance.

These efforts were soon being continued on all sides, the military discipline displaying itself more and more as the officers got free and then kept back the gathering crowd and those who made frantic efforts to help, but only hindered, the workers. The doctors were established in the tea-room, which was turned into a hospital, and the insensible and injured were rapidly borne in to them, while the cooler people who kept their heads, assisted.

It was quite time that the aid was effectual, for now a fresh horror was making itself evident. The explosion had resulted in darkness; but in two places smoke was arising, and one of these spots was where the canvas and poles lay thickest, and from whence Dick, who worked frantically, had dragged over a dozen people out, and helped to bear others who lay insensible, suffocated by those who had fallen and crushed them down.

Again and again he had plunged in under the canvas, feeling in the darkness amidst entangled chairs, portions of the table, with the chaos of broken china, glass, and cutlery, hoping that he was exactly in the place where Miss Deane must be, but always disappointed and helping to carry out someone else.

At last, when the fire began to burn, and the suffocating smoke to roll out, people hung back, and cries were raised for the engine and for buckets of water. But the barrack engine was already there, at the far end of the wreck, and the soldiers who manned it were striving hard to get out the hose and fit it together.

"My niece! my niece!" shrieked a voice close by; and, recognising the frantic woman who strove to escape from those who held her and to aid in the search, Dick made a fresh plunge in beneath the canvas, working round, cutting himself badly, and still in vain, till, half-suffocated, he was forced to try and creep back, but only to find that there in the darkness, where he was crawling, he had lost his way.

For a few minutes his senses reeled, and he felt as if all were over; but he recovered directly, for, in groping along, his hands touched something soft—a warm, bare arm, and the next minute he realised its owner's position. She was held tightly by someone, and there were pieces of the frame of the marquee and a portion of a pole forcing them down; while over all the folds of the canvas and drapery lay thick.

Left to himself Dick, and those whom he had found, must have perished; but as he struggled up, and beat at the tent overhead, there arose assuring shouts from without. Orders were given; as many men as could get a grip of the canvas seized it, and, just as Dick's senses were going, a strip of the marquee was dragged from over them, and then willing hands extricated the lady and the officer, who had evidently fallen with her while trying to bear her forth.

A few moments in the free air revived Dick, and he gasped out, as the men around began to talk—

"Who—who was it?"

"Mr Lacey—a lady," were the words that came back. That was enough. He felt sure of whom it would be, and turned once more towards the ridge of wood and canvas, from which flames were now beginning to leap.

"Keep back, my lad! Are you mad?" shouted an officer.—"Here—quick now—pass buckets!"

Dick's answer was to give his hand a wave and dash right in among the smoke, two soldiers who tried to stop him just missing his arm as he plunged in.

"Here, who was that?" cried the colonel, who now came up, panting.

"One of the bandsmen, sir—the lad must have gone mad!"

"No," cried the colonel; "he must have known that someone was still there. The orchestra was there at that end; he has gone to save one of his comrades. Pass the buckets, my lads.—A dozen, here: take this piece of canvas and haul!"

The men seized the piece pointed out and dragged at it, when a volume of smoke rolled forth; and as they got it farther away, and let in the air, there was a flash of light and then a report, as a jet of flame shot up into the air, followed by a steady, fluttering spurt of light, for a huge jet from a broken gas-pipe burned furiously.

"No matter—no good!" cried the colonel. "Keep back with those buckets! Who knows where they fitted the valve to turn this off?"

There was no answer, and the place now grew light; the woodwork began to blaze, the canvas to emit huge clouds of smoke, and the men around kept on making dashes in to try and find the lad who had entered the burning wreck.

It was all plain enough to see; the broken gas-pipe was flaring on the shattered woodwork of the orchestra, and this and the tables and chairs upon which it had fallen were burning fiercely, and lighting up the crowd of soldiers, officers, guests, and ladies who, less hurt than their companions, were fascinated by the scene.

"There's a man in there burning," shouted the colonel—"perhaps two. Volunteers, follow me!"

He led the brave fellows, who sprang forward right into the fire and smoke; but they were beaten back, scorched and blinded, and an awful silence fell upon the crowd, while the woodwork crackled and sputtered and the gas-main sent forth its great waving pillar of flame, roaring with a sonorous note; and all felt that the scarlet-coated figure they had seen leap in had gone to his death.

Just then up came, running, several men dragging the fire-engine hose, led by one bearing the bright copper branch.

"Now pump!" shouted an officer; but the order was checked by a yell of "No!" as the back of a figure was suddenly seen leaning toward them; then a couple of steps were taken, and it was seen that whoever it was had hold of another's arm, and was dragging him out.

With a cheer, half a dozen men—one of whom was Jerry—sprang in through the burning woodwork, and dragged both out into safety, to be borne directly after—just recognisable as a bandsman and an officer—through the mess-room to where the doctors were hard at work, but so far without having had one serious case.

Dick was the first to come to, just as the colonel hurried in for a few moments to inquire how the two injured men were, and came up to where the doctor was kneeling by the young fellow, applying cottonwool and oil to his burned hands.

"How is he?" said the colonel, anxiously.

"Ask him," said the doctor, shortly; "he can speak for himself—can't you, my lad?"

"Oh, yes, sir. My hands smart a good deal; but how is that man I ran back to get out?"

"You ran back to get him out, my lad?" said the colonel.

"Yes; I kicked against him. He was pinned down by some trestles and a tent-pole," said Dick, speaking in a feverish, excited way. "Do tell me how he is."

"Rather bad yet, so one of my colleagues says," replied the doctor.

The colonel hurried across the room to where two doctors were attending the officer, who was giving them great cause for anxiety, for he had been burned a good deal about one side of the head, and had been so nearly suffocated that a long course of the treatment used for the apparently drowned had been necessary before he began to breathe regularly again.

The colonel stood by the improvised couch for some minutes before some words uttered by the doctor in attendance relieved him sufficiently to enable him to return to help the members of his mess and allay the sufferings and anxieties of the guests.

"He's better," he said, pausing for a few moments beside the regimental surgeon, who was still tending Dick. "By the way, come and see to some of the ladies now."

"While I am bandaging this poor fellow, and while I am expecting fresh cases every moment?"

"No—no, there are no more; the canvas has all been drawn away, and the place carefully explored."

"Very well; I'll come as soon as I can. You'll have plenty of civilian doctors to see to them."

"Colonel!" cried Dick, sharply.

"Will you be quiet, sir?" cried the surgeon.—"Don't take any notice; he's a little light-headed!"

"No, I'm not!" said Dick, angrily. "I know what I'm saying.—Colonel!"

"What is it, my lad?"

"Is Lieutenant Lacey much hurt?"

"No, scarcely at all."

"And the lady?"

"Do you want to be very bad, sir?" cried the doctor. "Hold your tongue!"

"Yes, doctor, directly; but I want to know, colonel!"

"Yes, yes, my lad," said the old officer, laying his hand upon the youth's arm.

"Tell me about the lady."

"She has come to her senses; not burned, only terribly alarmed. She will be able to thank you for your bravery!"

"Oh, nonsense!" said Dick, hurriedly, and with a singular abstention in his semi-delirium from the use of the title of respect—sir; "anyone would have done the same. Now tell me about the poor fellow over yonder."

"I forbid you to ask another question!" cried the doctor, angrily.

"Let him hear what he wants, and then I'll go," said the colonel, quietly. "What do you want to know, my lad?"

"Who is it? Which of the gentlemen of the mess?"

"Neither," said the colonel, quietly. "It is one of our guests— Lieutenant Sir Mark Frayne."

Dick's jaw dropped, and his eyes dilated widely, as the colonel now walked sharply away.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE ECHO OF THE BALL.

The barrack yard was thronged as the colonel hurried out, thankful that the terrible disaster had not been made awful by any loss of life; and for the next hour he was one of the most active in trying to allay the alarm, and soothing the frightened girls and their chaperones, who were now the occupants of the quarters where the various officers' wives were doing their best to play hostess to the torn and dishevelled beings who had sought shelter beneath their roof.

As for the square in which the marquee had been erected, that remained a perfect chaos till the morning, the colonel having given orders that nothing should be touched as soon as the fire had been extinguished and the escaping gas securely stopped where the great pipe—not the original cause of the mischief, but that which had been broken by the explosion— stood amongst a heap of charred relics of the supper; while, to insure that such articles of jewellery as had been lost in the terrible struggle should be in safety, sentries were posted, and soon after the barrack yard was cleared of all save those who had special business there.

Hours elapsed before the last carriage rolled away with its scared occupants; for in the cases of those who had come from a distance the servants had not been ordered to attend till two and three o'clock.

At last, though, there was peace, and the officers of the 205th gathered in the mess-room to partake of a cup of coffee and a cigar before seeking their beds, as, utterly fagged out, they sat for some time talking over the events of the evening.

"Well, gentlemen," said the colonel, at last, "I hope you are satisfied with our ball."

"Satisfied!" cried the major. "Sir, I should like to court-martial the scoundrel who left that gas escaping!"

"Humph! Yes; but not a military offence," said the colonel. "Well, doctor, you've been growing horribly rusty lately; this ought to make you work easily and well!"

"Not my style," said the doctor. "Hysterical, frightened women and singed dandies not my class of work! A good respectable gunshot wound, a leg off, or a bayonet probe, if you like; but this sort of thing—bah! Why, if it had not been for our flute-player and Sir Mark Frayne, I should have been nowhere!"

"But where's Lacey?" said one of the officers.

"Ah, where's Adonis?" cried another.

"Poor old chap, he looked more like a chimney-sweep when he was pulled out!"

"Yes, it was a narrow squeak for him; but I have not seen him since he came to."

"Had a bath and gone to bed," said one of the subalterns; "and I feel as if it would do me good."

"He was a bit scorched, one of the town doctors said."

"Here, who is waiting?" cried the colonel.

One of the servants appeared, with half-washed face, but clean hands, and a moustache burned to a stubble.

"Go and see if Lieutenant Lacey's man is there, and send him up to his master's quarters. Let him say that I shall be glad to know how he is; but he is not to be disturbed if he is asleep."

"Beg pardon, sir; not asleep."

"How do you know?" said the colonel, sharply.

"I am Mr Lacey's servant, sir. He went home with two ladies, sir, about two o'clock, sir, and hasn't come back."

"Then he can't be very bad!"

"Yes, he can!" said a deep voice, and the gentleman in question marched up the room—blackened, with his hair scorched from the side of his head, and one arm in a sling formed of a lady's silk scarf. "I'm horribly bad! For goodness' sake, give me a drink!"

Almost as he uttered the words, Jerry handed him a frothing glass of brandy and soda, which he had hurried out to prepare as soon as he saw his master's exhausted state.

"Hah!" ejaculated Lacey, as he set down the glass and then sank into an easy-chair.

"Your arm bad?" said the colonel, anxiously. Then to the doctor—"Will you see to him?"

"Yes, of course," said that gentleman, who was on the alert directly. "Come with me to your room, Lacey, my boy, and let's have a look at you."

"Not if I know it!" said the young officer, with an energy that startled his hearers. "I'll prescribe for myself—Rest! Here, who's got a good cigar?"

Half a dozen were outstretched directly.

"I said a cigar!" growled Lacey. "I haven't got six mouths! Hi, Brigley, a light!"

But Jerry had left the room, and matches were offered by the nearest neighbour.

"That fellow's always out of the way when I want him!" snarled Lacey, savagely, as he struck a match, which went off with a loud crack, and lit his cigar, at which he began to puff furiously.

"Your injuries are paining you, my dear Lacey."

"So would yours, if you had them!" cried the young man with a snap; and the colonel smiled. "I don't see where the fun comes in, sir!" growled Lacey, angrily.

"I beg your pardon, my dear fellow," cried his chief. "I really sympathise with you, though."

"Try another way, sir," said Lacey, looking round with his eyes rolling, and then he sat, smoked, and sipped in silence.

"See your ladies home safely?" said the colonel at last.

"Oh, yes, sir; I saw them home safely," cried the lieutenant, snatching his cigar from his lips and dashing it into the empty grate. "Colonel, did you ever have an old woman in hysterics on your hands?"

"Well, I have had ladies in hysterics on my hands."

"But not for an hour and a half! Oh, it was awful, and all the time someone else so ill she could hardly stir. By George, what a scene! I don't care. You fellows sneer at me, and say I don't know anything about women: but I do. Old maids who have hysterics are the most selfish wretches that ever breathed. I couldn't get away."

"Of course not," said one of the officers. "That's your fault."

"My fault! Why?"

"Being so good-looking!"

"Good-looking! Ha! ha! ha! Look at me!" cried Lacey, leaping up and surveying his scorched face, and then his blackened uniform and general aspect of having been badly in the wars. "Yes, I look handsome, don't I? I say, though, I thought it was all over with me. I couldn't get free. Who helped me out?"

"That plucky little bandsman!"

"Not Smithson?" cried the lieutenant.

"Yes, Smithson," said the colonel.

"God bless him!" cried the lieutenant in a low voice full of emotion.

"Amen!" said the colonel. "He saved the lives of that sweet girl—Miss Deane, yours, and then Sir Mark Frayne's."

Lacey began to move towards the door; and the doctor rose, gave the colonel a significant nod, and followed.

"Going, Lacey?" said the colonel kindly.

"Yes, sir. I'm going to see and thank that brave lad."

"No, no; not to-night—I mean this morning," said the doctor. For the grey light was stealing in, and making the tall, blackened figure of the lieutenant look ghastly.

"Why not?"

"Because," said the doctor, "the poor fellow is in such a state that I cannot answer for his life."

"Then I'll go and sit by him till he's better!" said the lieutenant, resolutely.

The colonel followed him to the door, and laid his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Lacey, my boy," he half-whispered, "take the doctor's advice and mine— you are not yourself now."

"He saved our lives, sir," said the young officer. "One can't do too much for a man like that."

"No, my dear boy, one cannot; but you heard you are better away."

Lacey looked at him inquiringly.

"You'll oblige me by not going," said the colonel quickly, "and as much by going to your room and letting Lester see to you a bit."

"You wish it, colonel?"

"I do, Lacey."

"Will you come up with me to my quarters, Lester?" said the young man, quietly.

"Of course, my dear boy—of course," said the doctor, and they went out together, to be closely followed by Jerry, who reached the staircase first, and sprung up to light candles, though they were hardly necessary then.

"Why, colonel, he was like a lamb with you," said the major. "Who'd have thought it of Adonis!"

"Yes, he was like a lamb with me, and I always thought it of him," said the colonel, quietly. "We all laugh at and chaff him, but I should not like to be the man who had done him a wrong."

"Nor the fellow who had tried to bayonet him when his blood was up?"

"No," said the colonel quickly. "Now, gentlemen, bed for me. I don't think this old town will ever forget our ball."

He nodded, and left the mess-room, to go across the yard.

"Why, that's not the way to his quarters," said one of the officers, as he followed his chief with his eyes toward the shadowy building in which a faint light or two could be seen burning.

"No," said another. "I know: he's gone across to the infirmary."

"Is Frayne there?"

"No," said the major, "he's at Lindon's quarters. Chief's gone to see how little Smithson is. Let's—no, we'll drink his health after dinner this evening. Gentlemen, I'm for bed, or the sun will be up first."

Ten minutes later the mess-room looked grey and dismal—a pitiful contrast to its appearance a few hours before, but the sun rose before long as bright and glorious as ever, to come in at the infirmary window upon Dick Smithson's scorched brow, while, in company with the hospital attendant, the fat sergeant sat watching with a careworn expression upon his broad, good-humoured face.

"What did he say?" whispered the attendant, after Dick had hurriedly babbled a few words.

"Marks," said the sergeant; "Marks—he's thinking about the scars that there'll be upon his face."



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

DOWN IN THE DUMPS.

It was in the hospital by the invalid's side.

"Don't you look like that!" said Jerry. "I know how it is! You're getting better, and are able to think more. When you were ten times as bad, you never used to look so down and say you would never get right again!"

Jerry looked at Brumpton as he delivered himself of this oracular speech, and the fat sergeant declared that he was right; but Dick did not believe either of them.

"I've got some news for you, too."

"Look here," said Brumpton. "I must be off. Stop with him as long as you can, Jerry Brigley.—I say, why don't you have your flute, and practise a bit?"

Dick looked up from the easy-chair in which he lay back, and his eyes brightened; but they turned dull again, and he shook his head.

As soon as the sergeant had gone, Dick spoke.

"What is your news?" he said, feebly.

"Shan't tell you, if you don't pluck up a bit! You ought to be well by now. Why, it is a whole blessed month since that unlucky night, and here have you been bad ever since with burning and fever; and it's been a wonder to me as nobody understood what you were talking about. You let the cat out of the bag lots of times, but I was the only one as understood the connundydrum."

"Tell me your news," said Dick, wearily.

Jerry picked up a bouquet standing in water, sniffed it, and set it down again, watching the patient furtively as he went on ignoring the question.

"Here was Mr Lacey knocked up for a few days after his singeing, and gets right again, though his head of 'air is still orful to be'old; and it's on'y by cutting the other side so short as to make something like a match to the singed-off side where he was burnt that I made him able to go out when he got better. Soldiers do wear their hair pretty close, but his head looked quite indecent; and, as for his starshers, they're like a bit o' black toothbrush worn stumpy."

"You said that you had some news," said Dick, angrily.

"And then there's him as ought to ha' been the worst of all you three. He got burnt a deal, but it was mostly about the clothes. The padding in his uniform seemed to save him. I say—what are you going to do with yourself to-day?"

"Nothing."

"Let me give you a shampoo and a touch up."

Dick shook his head impatiently, and lay back, a shadow of his former self.

"You'd better!"

"Don't worry me, Jerry! You said you had some news."

"It's a letter," said the man, looking at him curiously.

"A letter?" cried Dick, starting; but the interest he took was only momentary, and his eyes half-closed again.

"Yes, a letter. I've had it two days, and didn't like to give it to you before."

"Why not?"

Jerry took a note from his breast, and held it so that the invalid could see first that it was not addressed, the envelope being blank; and then, slowly turning it round, so that Dick could see a crest stamped in colours upon the back.

That had its effect, for a flush came into the invalid's hollow cheeks, and he glared at Jerry.

"Where did you get that?" he cried.

"He give it me."

"Well?"

"To give to you. I see him the day before yesterday, and he told me to come to his rooms, and asked me about the bandsman whom the fellows said saved three people, and what your name might be. Then he asked if it was you who pulled him out, and I said it was, feeling quite queer the while; for it seemed so strange that you should have saved his life after all as took place. Then he set down at his table, looking not a bit the worse, asked how you spell your name, and I told him Richard Smithson, and he wrote this and sent it by me."

"Do you know what's in it?"

Jerry nodded.

"Then he recognised me?"

"No—he don't even know that he ever see you."

"But he seemed to know me at the ball."

"Oh, no! he didn't know you. He thinks you're dead as dead."

"But you say you know what is in that note?"

"Oh, yes!"

"You've read it?"

"Not that."

"What do you mean?"

Jerry took a closely-folded newspaper from his pocket.

"Ratcham, Dolchester, and Froude Magnet, sir—Richard Smithson," he read, and then doubling it closely, held it out, pointing to a paragraph.

"My eyes swim. I don't understand what you mean, Jerry."

"Shall I read it, sir?"

"Yes."

Jerry coughed and then began:—

"The Late Fire at the Barracks.—We understand that Lieutenant Sir Mark Frayne, of the 310th, has presented Smithson, the gallant young bandsman of the 205th Fusiliers, with a handsome cheque as a memento of his prowess daring the catastrophe after the military ball was nearly over. Smithson, we are glad to say, is convalescent."

Dick's eyes contracted, and he stared hard at Jerry.

"That's the way some folks do it. That's what they call advertising. Proper way. Never give anything till people's looking on, and if they won't see, put it in the paper, and then they'll read."

"Open that envelope," said Dick, sharply, and Jerry obeyed, taking out slowly a sheet of paper, from which fell a cheque.

"Shall I read, sir?" asked Jerry.

"Yes," said Dick, in a more decisive way than he had displayed since the night of the ball.

"'With Sir Mark Frayne's best wishes to the brave soldier who saved his life.' Sounds handsome, don't it? 'Messrs. Roots and Company, pay Richard Smithson, or order, Five Pounds.'"

Jerry glanced at Dick, who lay back now, with his eyes closed, looking very stern.

"It's too much," said Jerry. "Five pound! Fippence is about all his life's worth?"

"Have you a box of matches?"

"Yes; want a smoke, sir?"

"Light a match."

Jerry obeyed, struck a light, and held the cheque in one hand, the wax taper in the other.

"Burn it," said Dick, shortly.

"It's fi' pounds, sir; and you may want it."

"Burn it!" cried Dick, sternly.

"Well, it's your own, and you've a right to do as you like with it," said Jerry; and the thin scrap of paper was held to the flame, burned till the man's fingers were in danger, and then fell slowly to the floor as so much tinder.

"That was your news, then?"

"Not all of it."

"What is it, then?"

Jerry picked up the bunch of flowers, sniffed at it, and set it down again in the water.

"She's a-coming."

"What?"

"That Miss Deane as sent these is coming in with Mr Lacey this afternoon."

Dick rose up in his chair, staring excitedly.

"She wanted to come ever so long ago, Mr Lacey said, and now he is going to bring her. Hadn't you better let me give you a shampoo, sir?"

"Miss Deane coming here with the lieutenant—to this wretched place?"

"Well, she ain't coming to see the place; she's a-coming to see you."

"No, no, Jerry! Go and tell Mr Lacey she mustn't come."

"Likely! Now just look here. You want to keep all about yourself quiet, and sits upon me when I says go to the colonel and out with it all, like a man—now don't you?"

"Yes, yes. I'll wait my time," said Dick; and he added, softly, "If I live."

"And then, as soon as things are a bit different to what you like, back you goes to the old style, and begins giving your orders. Now just fancy me going to the guvnor's quarters and saying to him, 'Hi! you, sir, you're not to bring Miss Deane to the horspittle to-day.'

"'Who says so?' says he.

"'Dick Smithson, Esquire.'

"And then he says, 'You go and tell Dick Smithson he's a common soldier, and if he ever dares to send me such a message as that again, I'll report him to the colonel for insubordination'—that's the word, sir, 'insubordination.' I've picked up a deal since I've been in the army; and, as we used to learn at school—and precious little it was!—'positive insolence; comparytive, insubordination: s'perlative mutiny.'"

"Yes, Jerry, you're right; I forget myself sometimes," sighed Dick.

"Sometimes! Why, you've forgot yourself altogether. Come now, let me give you a spick up, and make you look a little more like old times. Now then, just a little shampoo."

"No, no."

"And the scissors put round your 'air a bit. Shave wouldn't hurt you neither."

"I wish you wouldn't worry me, Jerry."

"I won't worry you; only you can't see a lady as you are, you know— Don't want to—keep your eyes shut, please—to see you a bit o' dandy, like Mr Lacey. Feel nice and cool, eh?"

Dick nodded, and suffered Jerry to place his hands on each side of the basin of water planted upon his knees, so as to keep it steady.

"Nothing like a soft sponge, cold water, and a bit o' scented soap— those are Mr Lacey's—to comfort you up. Of course, it depends on the oppyrator. I've seen women soaping little kids and making 'em squirm and yell, when I've felt as I could ha' washed the poor little things and made 'em laugh all the time.—This is one of Mr Lacey's towels, too—he wouldn't mind me bringing 'em. I say, though, you are a deal better. Fortni't ago you'd have shrunk like if I'd touched you even as tender as that."

"What's that—pomatum?"

"Pomatum! As if I'd use pomatum to a gent's 'air or a private's either. No, that's a cream made from a prescription I gave a 'airdresser half a soverin' for. Violets is nothing to it in the way o' smell. I won't quite shampoo you to-day, but give you just an extra brush. You want freshening—that's all—and I don't want you to be tired. Have a shave?"

"No, no; there's nothing to shave."

"Nothing! call that nothing? Why, I've known gents to go and be shaved reg'lar with not half your beard. Well, I'll let you off for another day or two but I must touch up those finger-nails."

Dick made a gesture, but it was all in vain. Almost before he knew it, Jerry had laid aside towel, brushes, and basin, and begun upon the nails, which he trimmed with wonderful dexterity, commenting the while on things in general.

"Look here," he said: "if you want to keep things quiet, you'd better wear your hands in your pockets. Nobody as knows anything would believe your name's Smithson, if he sees your hands."

"Why?" said Dick, who felt half-amused.

"'Cause there's so much breed about your nails. 'Gift on the finger's sure to linger; gift on the thumb is sure to come.' Do you know he calls and sees Miss Deane and her aunt?"

"Mr Lacey?—of course."

"I didn't mean him. Lookers-on see most of the game. Wonder what Mr Lacey would say if I was to tell him all I know."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing, sir. I dunno what he'd say; but I think I know what he'd do—scrunch Mr Mark like a walnut in a door-hinge!"

"Look here, I don't want to hear any scandal, Jerry. There, that will do! I'll give you a shilling as soon as I have one."

"Thank ye; but don't. Keep it saved up for me, till I can say sir to you proper. When are you going to begin?"

The coming of the hospital attendant with Dick's dinner interrupted the conversation; and that afternoon, as he sat by the open window, with the bouquet of flowers before him and a book, there was a rustling of silk on the stairs—loud, heavy steps, quiet and light steps as well—and directly after the door was opened, and Lacey, looking proud and happy, ushered Miss Deane into the room.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A STARTLING FACT.

That event was the turning-point in Dick Smithson's long illness; and the words said to him by Anna Deane at her visit convinced him that there was something worth living for, even if it was only to have won the respect and friendship of the lady whom he judged now to be the lieutenant's betrothed.

"I knew it," Jerry said, with a good, open smile, as he was finishing Dick's toilet. "Nobody knows till they try it what virtue there is in a shampoo."

That was some few days later, when the lieutenant's servant had gone to the hospital, as usual, to see how the patient was getting on, and if anything could be done.

"Rubbish!" cried Dick, who was still very weak; but there was a different look in his eyes now that was cheering, and it made Jerry rub his hands.

"All right; you call it rubbish. That's the way of the world. Chap's dying; doctor gives him the right stuff, and pulls him round; and he says: 'Physic? Rubbish! I should have got right by myself.'"

"I wasn't talking about doctors," said Dick, "but of you and your shampooing."

"All right, have it your own way; but you began to get better the morning after the guv'nor brought Miss Deane, and since I shampooed you."

"Absurd!" cried Dick.

"That's right, stick to it; but I say that when a man's weak and upset, if he has a good shampoo—I mean a real shampoo, given by anyone who understands it—he begins to feel better directly. There, it stands to reason. Even a watch won't go without it's properly cleaned now and then; so how can you expect it of a human being? But never mind, sir, you are better, and that's everything. Mind my coming up?"

"Mind? No; I'm glad to see you, Jerry. How is Mr Lacey?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about him, sir."

"Not going back, surely?" said Dick, eagerly.

"Well, he is and he isn't, if you can understand that."

"But has the doctor seen him?"

"Wouldn't do no good, if he did, sir. Sort of complaint no doctor couldn't cure."

"Now, look here, Jerry; do you see that glass of lemonade?"

"See it? Of course."

"Then take warning: if you begin telling me that nothing will do Mr Lacey any good but a shampoo, I'll throw it at you."

Jerry grinned.

"You are getting better, Dick Smithson, and no mistake," he said; "but you can drink the stuff, for you won't have to throw it at me, because shampooing ain't no good for a bit o' gambling—whether it's horse-racing or cards."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this, S'Rich—"

"Hush!"

Slap!

Jerry gave himself a heavy pat on the mouth.

"Forgot," he muttered. "Look here, sir—I mean Dick Smithson—has Mr Lacey got plenty of money?"

"I don't know. He must be pretty well-off or he couldn't live as he does."

"Oh, I don't see that. Lots o' gentry lives in good style and no money per rannum, as we calls it, at all. But you think he is pretty well-off?"

"Yes; why are you talking like this?"

"Because he ought to be stopped, or somebody else ought."

"I don't understand you, Jerry. Speak out openly, please."

"Oh, very well, then, I will, even if it costs me my place. You see, I've burnt my fingers, so that I know," and these words came fast. "I can't help seeing when anyone's getting into the fire."

"Do you mean, in plain English, Jerry, that Mr Lacey is betting and gambling?"

"That's just what I do mean, in plain English."

"But it seems impossible, situated as he is."

"With a hangel to take care of him? It do."

"He never seemed to me to be a man who would care for such things."

"More he would if he wasn't led on to it. It is his doing—him, I mean!"

"My cousin?"

"That's him; and I'm beginning to think you ought to do something as soon as you're well enough. Speak up, and say who you are and why you're here."

"They'd call me an impostor, Jerry."

"What, when you've got me for a witness? Not they, sir; I can prove anything. You ought to do something. You ought indeed."

"Must get well first, Jerry."

"Of course, no one can't be expected to do much when he's weak as you are. But as soon as you feel strong enough, do pray make a start; and, just look here, it's your dooty—it is, indeed. If you don't, him as has shown himself your friend 'll be suffering for it, and if he does, so will somebody else."

"Let me get well," said Dick, knitting his brows.

"Well, I will; but, look here, if you don't, my conscience won't let me hold my tongue no longer; I shall speak out myself."

"You wouldn't dare, Jerry, after your promise."

The doctor's visit brought Jerry's to an end, and at last Dick was left alone to think out his position and what he ought to do.

But he could not plan just then; he was too weak, and his head grew confused.

"It will have to wait," he said with a sigh. "Everything in the past seems now like part of a dream, and I'm beginning to feel as if I really am Dick Smithson, and that I have no right to think anything about Mark. Yes, my head feels all wrong, and as if that weary time was coming back. What did the doctor say—that I must sleep all I can? I will."

His eyelids were already drooping from sheer weariness, and a few minutes later he was lying back fast asleep, with nature working steadily and well to build up his strength.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE MISSING MAN.

Jerry Brigley was operating upon his master's head, a few days later, with a couple of hair-brushes, and these he used in the most dexterous manner; and the results were wonderfully different from those produced by the people who brushed one's boyish hair in the good old times.

"Oh! for the days when I was young!" people cry, and they may well make use of that interjection; but it ought to be in something else than regret.

I, for one, would prefer not to be young again, to go through all that suffering connected with my head.

Pray, do not imagine that I refer to learning the three "R's" or to working out those angular puzzles invented by Euclid, whose problems would only stop in my brain one at a time—that is to say, when I had mastered one perfectly, and could repeat and illustrate it throughout upon slate with pencil, upon paper with pen, upon blackboard with chalk, the process of acquiring another made a clean sweep of the first, which was utterly demolished and had to be relearned, only in its turn to destroy "Proposition Two."

I meant nothing of that sort, but rather the external suffering that my unfortunate little head received at the hands of nurses, who half-suffocated me with the soap that produced temporary blindness in my eyes, and deafness in my ears, before the best family yellow or mottled was "slooshed" away, leaving me panting and hot. Then came the tremendous rubbing, followed by the jigging out of knots of hair with a cruel comb and the brushing which seemed to make numberless little holes in my tender scalp; while my head was knocked to this side and to that, and then tapped with the back of the brush, because I was a naughty boy and would not hold still.

Lieutenant Lacey's treatment at the hands of Jerry Brigley was of a very different type. When he was shampooing, Jerry could have given Cinquevalli, the great juggler, long odds and beaten him. This man performs wonderful feats with cannon-balls, but they are nothing to Jerry's graceful acts with the human head, which he would take in hand and keep in a perfect state of equilibrium, balancing the pressure of one set of fingers by the resistance of the other; the same when towelling, and, above all, when finishing with a pair of the lieutenant's ivory-backed brushes. His master's head was kept floating, as it were, on the points of the bristles, while a pleasant stimulation was kept up on what Jerry termed "the scallup."

"By the way, Brigley," said the lieutenant, who sat back in his chair, with his eyes half-shut, "I shall have three or four friends here to-night."

"Yes, sir."

"See that the refreshments are on a side-table."

"Yes, sir."

"And go down into the town and buy three or four packs of cards."

"Yes, sir."

Silence for a few moments, and then the lieutenant began again, just as Jerry had come to the conclusion that he could name the guests expected, one of whom was certain to be Mark Frayne.

"And he won't be very glad to see me here," thought Jerry, who started at his master's next words.

"What have you done with your tongue?"

"Beg pardon, sir? Nothing, sir."

"Because you don't talk. Aren't you well?"

"Well, sir? No, sir; not quite, sir."

"Take some pills!" growled Lacey.

"Pills, sir? I 'ate pills!"

"More stupid you. Swallow them at once!"

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"I say, swallow them at once. Best way is to wrap them in cigarette-paper."

"Beg pardon, sir! A mistake, sir. I said I 'ate pills."

"I heard you."

Jerry peered round a little into the lieutenant's face, to see if he were trying to make a joke; but Lacey looked serious enough, and the man went on, confidentially—

"Fact is, sir, I'm a bit upset."

"Look sharp and get right again. Don't you say you're too poorly to wait on us to-night!"

"Oh, dear, no, sir! I shall attend upon you; but, the fact is, I'm in trouble."

"Humph! And you want an advance upon your wages. How much?"

"No, sir," said Jerry, irritably, as he drove the bristles of one brush among the bristles of the other; "it's not that sort of trouble. It's about someone."

"Lady! Why, Brigley, you're not thinking of getting married?"

"Oh, no, sir! it's about—about a gent—I mean a man, sir. It's him as you know, sir—Smithson."

"Dick Smithson!" cried the lieutenant. "What's the matter with him?"

"He ain't been the same, sir, since the night of the ball. He has worried me a deal."

"Yes, he seems a good deal pulled down, poor fellow! But is he ill again?"

"No, sir; he went out yesterday—had a pass—and—"

"And what? Don't hesitate like that, man!"

"He did not come back last night."

"Sorry to hear it," said the lieutenant. "Means trouble—punishment. I liked Smithson."

"Yes, sir; everyone did."

"Perhaps he's taken ill, and had to stay somewhere."

Jerry was silent.

"You don't think he has bolted?"

Jerry made no answer, and the lieutenant swung round in his chair.

"Why, you do," he cried, excitedly. "Do you know that bolting means desertion, sir?"

"Yes, sir," said Jerry, humbly.

"Then you're a fool, Brigley."

"Yes, sir."

"If Smithson had been a common sort of pothouse-haunting fellow, it might have been so; but Smithson was a clever musician, and too much of a gentleman to do such a thing."

"Thank ye, sir."

"'Thank ye!'" cried the lieutenant, irritably; "what do you mean by that?"

"I mean, sir, that's what he is."

"Oh, pooh! he has not deserted."

"I don't know, sir," said Jerry, dubiously.

"Look here, Brigley: I don't often use bad language, but if you talk like that, confound you! I shall swear at you."

"I wish you would, sir," said Jerry.

"What?"

"I say I wish you would, sir. It would seem to do me good like, for I'm reg'larly upset about Smithson, sir."

"There, I beg your pardon, Brigley. I'm sorry I spoke so roughly."

"Oh, don't do that, sir. It don't matter. I don't want to think he's gone, sir, because it's 'ard—because he seemed to trust me a bit, and I don't like for him to have gone off without saying a word."

"Look here: you knew him before he joined?"

"Oh, yes, sir; I knew him."

"You were friends?"

"No, sir—not exactly friends, but I knew him."

"And—There! I don't want to pump you, Brigley, but I suppose he was in quite a different station of life, and got into some trouble, which made him leave home?"

"Beg pardon, sir; Dick Smithson made me swear as I'd keep my mouth shut about him, and I give him my word; and, all respeck to you, sir, I'm going to keep it; but I can't contradict what you said, sir, all the same."

"Well, it would be confoundedly ungentlemanly of me to be prying into anyone's affairs, Brigley, and I won't ask questions about him. I hope, though, he hasn't done anything so foolish as to desert, because, even if he is in the band, he is a soldier, and—I have heard nothing. Has it been reported?"

"Yes, sir; and Mr Wilkins is making a big stir about it. Never had a civil word for him, and used to sneer at his playing; but, now Dick's gone, he's going on as if he couldn't spare him at no price."

"How do you know—who told you?"

"The bombardon, sir."

"The what? Why don't you say the big drum?"

"Beg pardon, sir, I meant Sergeant Brumpton, the fa—stout musician, sir, as is practising for the band."

"Then they must be sending out notices to the police all over the place. Tut—tut—tut! This is a great pity. I must ask you one thing, Brigley: has there anything happened that would make him likely to go?"

Jerry nodded his head over and over again.

"I'm sorry—very sorry; but perhaps we are making a stir about nothing, and he'll be back soon."

"Yes, sir, perhaps he will."

"But you don't expect to see him, eh?"

Jerry shook his head—this time violently—and no more was said, for the lieutenant had to finish dressing and go on parade.

A couple of hours later the young bandsman's disappearance was the talk of the barracks, and numerous were the reasons assigned for it; while the customary notification was given, to the annoyance of Dick's friends and the gratification of his enemies, these consisting of the men who wished to be on good terms with the bandmaster.

But Jerry had his business to attend to; for, though Lieutenant Lacey was annoyed, he had invited friends for that evening, and the orders given had to be attended to. So the man went off into the town and bought the playing-cards, shaking his head as he walked back. "Don't seem much now for a pack of cards," he muttered, "but I'll be bound to say they'll cost the guv'nor a pretty penny. Wonder what he'd say to me if I told him the best thing he could do would be never to make another bet and never to touch a card again. I know—he'd kick me."

"Who would?" said someone at his elbow.

"Hallo! You! Mr Brumpton? Was I talking aloud?"

"Yes, quite aloud."

"Then it's a bad habit, sir. I say, has young Smithson come back?"

"No; I'm afraid he's gone, Brigley. There always was a bit of mystery about that young fellow. You had no idea that he was going off?"

"Not I, or I should have let out at him. I say, they won't call it desertion, will they, Mr Brumpton?"

"That's what they do call it; and, the worst of it is, he'll be punished."

"Won't the colonel let him off easy as—as he's a musician?"

"How can they let him off easy? Why, if they did, half the roughs of the regiment would be off at once."

"Ah! I didn't think of that," said Jerry, sadly. "But s'pose he comes back of himself?"

"He'll be punished, but not so severely."

"And s'pose he don't come back?"

"Don't suppose any confounded nonsense," said the fat sergeant, wiping his moist forehead. "I'd have given anything—sooner than it should have happened. There's that twopenny-fife of a man, Wilkins, squeaking about it all over the place. Hang him! I should like to punch his miserable little head, only my hands are so fat they'd feel like boxing-gloves to him. What do you think he said just now?"

"As he was glad Smithson had gone?"

"No; I'd have believed him for that. He never liked the lad, and it would only have been the honest truth. He said that it was a painful thing; but, under the circumstances, he should advise every man to examine his kit, and see that his instruments were all right."

"What did he mean by that?" cried Jerry.

"Mean! Why, for the men to see that the poor lad hadn't carried off anything that didn't belong to him."

"Well!" cried Jerry, fiercely, "of all! Here! I can't stand that!"

"Hold hard!" cried the fat sergeant, catching his arm. "Where are you going?"

"To the bandmaster," cried Jerry, "to have it out with him. My hands won't feel like gloves!"

"Stop where you are!" growled the sergeant. "Never mind Wilkins. You don't want to get in a row. Do you want to strike your officer?"

"Officer!" cried Jerry, excitedly; "officer! I don't call that combination of a thing an officer!"

"You be quiet," said Brumpton. "We've said enough as it is."

"No, sir, we ain't! and, soldier or no soldier, I'm a man, and not going to have things like that spoken about my comrade—and such a comrade as him!"

"Be quiet, I tell you!" said Brumpton; and the man's tone and manner made Jerry forget that he was so pincushion-like in appearance. "I don't want you to get in trouble, too!"

"And I don't want to get in trouble," said Jerry; "but I don't call it manly for a lot of fellows who knew Dick Smithson to be a reg'lar gent to the backbone to stand there and hear that mean little wax-match of a man, without saying a word or sticking up for him!"

"Who said nobody stuck up for him?" said Brumpton.

"You never said anyone did!"

"Well, they did!" said Brumpton.

"Oh, that's better! What did they say?"

"As soon as he spoke like that, a lot of the men began to hiss."

"Hiss!" cried Jerry, contemptuously; "why, a goose on Clapham Common could do that!"

"And then," continued Brumpton, "Wilkins began to blink over his music-stand, looking as red in the face as his uniform. 'Who was that?' he says—'who was it that dared to make that noise?'"

"And then no one spoke," sneered Jerry. "Hissed! I'd ha' punched his head. Bandmaster, indeed!—I'd ha' been the bandmaster's master that time!"

"Wrong, Jerry Brigley!" cried Brumpton. "Someone did speak, others did not; but I'll answer for everyone, I spoke out."

"Bravo!" cried Jerry. "What did you say, sergeant?"

"I said it was a blackguardly, cowardly thing to say behind a man's back."

"Yes; and what then?" cried Jerry, breathlessly.

"Then? Oh, he turned upon me and let me have it, while I took no notice, feeling as I did that I ought to have known better; and the quieter I was the more he went on giving it me, and threatening and getting more and more savage, till he roused me at last."

"How? What did he say?"

"Well, there is one thing that makes me wild, and he did it. I stood there holding the bombardon, letting him go on, till all at once he told me that I was no more good in my company and I had come sneaking to the band to try and get taken on there, but that I was of no use at all, and he'd soon put a stop to my practising with the men; and that I was—"

Brumpton stopped, and wiped his face again.

"Well, let's have it!" cried Jerry, excitedly.

"He said that I was a fat, idiotic porpoise; and that did it."

"Did what?" cried Jerry.

"I'd got that big bombardon upside down in my hands, and, before I knew it, I'd brought it down on his bald head, just as if it was an extinguisher."

"And put him out!" said Jerry.

"Well, he put me out then, anyhow."

"And what did he say, then."

"Oh, he didn't say any more," replied Brumpton. "But I'm sorry I did it, and there'll be a big row."

"Mind shaking hands with me, sergeant?"

"No, my lad—not a bit."

"Hah!" ejaculated Jerry after the operation. "That was a real honest English grip, and I wish Dick Smithson had been there to hear you take his part. He'll never come back now!"