or Richard Frayne, son of a distinguished officer, was tramping through
a garrison town towards the great dingy barracks, and his future was
rapidly taking form and shape.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE LADS IN RED.

If Richard Frayne had stopped to look back, his career would have been
very different; but he had fully and stubbornly made up his mind, and he
looked forward as he walked on and on through the apparently endless
streets of what he found to be a trio of towns; and as he approached the
great barracks he was conscious of the shrieking of fifes and the roll
of drums, which suddenly ceased as a crowd of rough-looking boys and
people came along a side-lane, down which, and rapidly approaching, was
the shining and glittering of a long line of bayonets, while in front
came the gleam of brass instruments.

As the head of the regiment marching into the town reached the main
street, _boom_--_boom_--_boom_--came the heavy thunder of the big drum;
and then, in full burst of the brass instruments, the first bars of the
grand March from _Tannhauser_, sending the first thrill of pleasure he
had felt for days through Richard's breast, as he naturally fell into
step and marched along side by side with the men.

But the thrill soon passed off, and as he tramped on he could not help
thinking, in a low-spirited way, that the men looked dusty and fagged.
The chalky white powder clung to their blue trousers and scarlet
coatees; their shakoes, too, were whitened, and their hot faces were
grimed and coated with perspiration and dust.

In spite of the music, there was something wanting; and in a few minutes
Richard Frayne slackened his pace, so that the regiment went on past
him, and he followed more slowly, for there was nothing attractive about
the men.

But he had not come down there spurred on by any boyish admiration for
the army. His was a set purpose, and, after letting the marching
regiment disappear, with a peculiar sensation of sadness affecting him
as he stole a glance--he could hardly bear to look--at the officers, he
turned off along one of the side-streets and passed through the great
gates of one of the barracks. Here he could see a round-faced, fat man,
whose clothes looked ridiculously tight, hurrying to and fro before a
double line of men in flannel jackets, and at whom he seemed to be
barking loudly.

He was a peculiar-looking man for a soldier, suggesting, as he did at a
distance, an animated pincushion