coat that he was excessively proud of,--it was the only
bit of mufti in the battalion, I think; but he came off all right, and
treated us all to a supper with his winnings, which, if I don't mistake,
did n't pay more than half the bill."

"Good luck to him, and here's his health," cried Kellett, whose heart,
though proof against all ordinary appeals to affection, could not
withstand this assault of utter recklessness and improvidence. "He's my
own flesh and blood, there's no denying it."

If Conway was astounded at this singular burst of paternal affection, he
did not the less try to profit by it, and at once began to recount the
achievements of his comrade, Jack Kellett. The old man listened half
doggedly at first, but gradually, as the affection of others for his
son was spoken of, he relaxed, and heard, with an emotion he could not
easily repress, how Jack was beloved by the whole regiment,--that to be
his companion in outpost duty, to be stationed with him in a battery,
was a matter of envy. "I won't say," said Conway, "that every corps and
every company has not fellows brave as he; but show me one who 'll carry
a lighter spirit into danger, and as soft a heart amid scenes of
cruelty and bloodshed. So that if you asked who in our battalion is the
pluckiest, who the most tenderhearted, who the most generous, and who
the least given to envy, you'd have the one answer, 'Jack Kellett,'
without a doubt."

"And what will it all do for him?" broke in the old man, resorting once
more to his discontent.

"What will it do for him? What has it done for him? Is it nothing that
in a struggle history will make famous a man's name is a household word;
that in a war where deeds of daring are so rife, his outnumbers those of
any other? It's but a few weeks back a Sardinian staff-officer, coming
to our head-quarters on business, asked if the celebrated 'Bersagliere'
was there,--so they call riflemen,--and desired to see him; and, better
than that, though he didn't know Jack's name, none doubted who was
meant, but Jack Kellett was sent for on the instant. Now, that I call
fame."

"Will it get him his commission?" said Beecher, knowingly, as though by
one shrewd stroke of intelligence he had embraced the entire question.

"A commission can be had for four hundred and fifty pounds, and some man
in Parliament to ask for it. But what Jack has done cannot be bought
by mere money. Do you go out there, Mr. Beecher, just go and see for