e you did not see me bowl over a big Congo chap?" asked Bones,
carelessly, as he opened a tin of preserved tongue. "Two at once I
bowled over," he repeated.

"What do you expect me to do?" asked Hamilton unpleasantly. "Get up and
cheer, or recommend you for the Victoria Cross or something?"

Bones carefully speared a section of tongue from the open tin before he
replied.

"I had not thought about the Victoria Cross, to tell you the truth," he
admitted; "but if you feel that you ought to recommend me for something
or other for conspicuous courage in the face of the enemy, do not let
your friendship stand in the way."

"I will not," said Hamilton.

There was a little pause, then without raising his eyes from the task in
hand which was at that precise moment the covering of a biscuit with a
large and generous layer of marmalade, Bones went on.

"I practically saved the life of one of Bosambo's headmen. He was on the
ground and three fellows were jabbing at him. The moment they saw me
they dropped their spears and fled."

"I expect it was your funny nose that did the trick," said Hamilton
unimpressed.

"I stood there," Bones went on loftily ignoring the gratuitous insult,
"waiting for anything that might turn up; exposed, dear old fellow, to
every death-dealing missile, but calmly directing, if you will allow me
to say so, the tide of battle. It was," he added modestly, "one of the
bravest deeds I ever saw."

He waited, but Hamilton had his mouth full of tongue sandwich.

"If you mention me in dispatches," Bones went on suggestively.

"Don't worry--I shan't," said Hamilton.

"But if you did," persisted Lieutenant Tibbetts, poising his sticky
biscuit, "I can only say----"

"The marmalade is running down your sleeve," said Hamilton; "shut up,
Bones, like a good chap."

Bones sighed.

"The fact of it is, Hamilton," he was frank enough to say, "I have been
serving so far without hope of reward and scornful of honour, but now I
have reached the age and the position in life where I feel I am entitled
to some slight recognition to solace my declining years."

"How long have you been in the army?" asked Hamilton, curiously.

"Eighteen months," replied Bones; "nineteen months next week, and it's a
jolly long time, I can tell you, sir."

Leaving his dissatisfied subordinate, Hamilton made the round of the
camp. The red field, as he called it, was in reality a low-lying meadow,
which rose steeply to the bank of