did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And yet you wonder that he has got what you call his knife into you!”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s why, sir.”
“Well, I do.”
“No, sir; it’s his aggravating way of wanting to see a company of human men going across the parade like a great big caterpillar or a big bit of a machine raking up the sand.”
“Never mind. Old Ripsy is a fine soldier, and I advise you not to let him hear you.”
“Pst!”
“What is it?”
“Mr. Maine, sir,” whispered the lad; and the subaltern’s heels dropped at once from the table upon which they had been resting, for plainly heard through the window, in a loud, forced cough, full of importance, came the utterance, “Errrrum! Errum!” and Private Peter Pegg’s lower jaw dropped, and his eyes, as he fixed them upon the subaltern’s face, opened in so ghastly a stare of dread that, in spite of his annoyance, Ensign Maine’s hands were clapped to his mouth to check a guffaw. But as the regular stamp more than stride of a heavy man reached his ears, the young officer’s countenance assumed a look of annoyance, and he whispered in a boyish, nervous way:
“Slip off, Pete; and don’t let him see you leaving my room.”
“I can’t, sir,” whispered the lad, with a look full of agony.
“What!”
“He telled me if ever he catched me loafing about your quarters he’d—”
“Don’t talk. Cut!”
“I can’t, sir.”
“You can.”
“But—”
“Don’t talk. Off at once.”
“But I tell you, sir—”
“I don’t want to be told. He mustn’t see you going away from here.”
“But he’s stopped, sir. Can’t you hear?”
“No—yes. Why has he stopped?”
“Because he can see my two blessed buckets standing there.”
“Oh, Peter Pegg! Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!” And as the young subaltern gave utterance to these homely sounds, he was recalling certain sarcastic remarks of the stern master of drill respecting officers and gentlemen demeaning themselves by associating with the men.
Chapter Two.
A Rowing.
“A Guilty conscience needs no accuser,” said Archie Maine to himself. “There’s a splendid proverb. It can’t mean a wigging this time. But if that pompous old pump, that buckled-up basha, lets the Major know that he caught poor old Pegg in my room to-day, I’m sure to get a lecture about making too free with the men instead of going about amongst them perched up upon metaphorical stilts. Well, whatever he wants to see me about, it can’t be for a wigging, or else he wouldn’t have summoned me just close upon soup-and-’tater call.”
The smart-looking young subaltern drew himself up, looking his military best, as he made for the Major’s quarters, before which, in light undress uniform, a private was marching up and down, crossing the doorway and the windows of the mess-room, through which the lamps of the dinner-table shone, as they were being lit by the servants. The regimental glass and plate were beginning to glitter on the table, while a soft, warm breeze was rustling the tropical leaves and beginning to cool the atmosphere, as it swept from the surrounding jungle through the widely opened casements.
“Yes! Come in!” came in a loud, bluff, rather rich voice; and the next minute Archie was face to face with the fine-looking, white-haired, florid Major in command of the infantry detachment stationed at Campong Dang in support of Her Majesty’s Resident, Sir Charles Dallas, whose duty it was to instruct the Malay Rajah of Pahpah how to rule his turbulent bearers of spear and kris and wearers of sarong and baju, in accordance with modern civilisation, and without putting a period to their lives for every offence by means of the sudden insertion of an ugly-looking, wavy weapon before throwing them to the ugliest reptiles that ever haunted a muddy stream.
“Ah! Hum! Yes.”
There was a pause in the strange salute, and, “ ’Tis a row, then,” said Archie to himself. “You received my despatch, Mr. Maine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And of course, sir, you are perfectly aware of my reasons for summoning you?”
“No, sir,” replied Archie.
“What! Now, that’s what I intensely dislike, Mr. Maine. If there is anything that annoys, irritates, or makes me dissatisfied with the men—the gentlemen under my command, it is evasion, shuffling, shirking, or prevarication.”
At the beginning of this speech the young officer felt nervous and troubled with a feeling of anxiety, but his commanding officer’s tone and words sent the blood flushing up into his face, and he replied warmly:
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am neither shuffling nor prevaricating when I tell you that I do not know why you have sent for me.” Then to himself—
“He could not have known about the Sergeant, for that was after he had sent his note.”
He had time to say this to himself, for the Major was staring at him in amazement.
“What! What! What!” he exclaimed. “How—how dah you, sir? I’d have you to know that when I address my subordinates—ahem!—arrrum!—I—that is—hum—dear me, how confoundedly you have grown like your father, Archibald! Just his manner. I—that is—well, look here, sir; I have been very much put out about you. I promised my old comrade that I would do the best that I could in the way of helping you on and making you a useful officer and a thorough gentleman, and you know, between men, Archibald Maine, it has not been quite the thing. This is not the first time I have had to speak to you and complain of your conduct.”
“No, sir,” said the lad in rather a sulky tone; “and when I was in fault I never shuffled or prevaricated.”
“Never, Archie, my lad,” said the Major energetically. “It was bad form of me, but I was angry with your father’s son. My words were ill-chosen, and there—there—I apologise.”
“Oh no, sir!” cried the lad, warming up and speaking excitedly; “there is no need for that. I suppose I have been in the wrong, but I did not really know what I had been doing when you sent your letter.”
“Of course you did not, my boy; but—er—I was not thinking of that. It was about your conduct
