gh hand. Bold and game as
Sherman, or Paul Jones, but as ruthless as Graham of Claverhouse. He put
the ever-lasting fear into the rebels of Oude--something like Cromwell
did in Ireland. My old Governor served through the Mutiny--he's told me
stories of him. My God!"

He drew his fur coat closer round him. "Well!"--Redmond watched the
sombre profile--"as I was saying . . . I 'muckered'. . . . Since then,
with the years, I guess I've been climbing down the ladder of illusions
till I'm right in the stoke-hole, and Old Nick seems to grin and whisper:
'As you were! my cashiered Sub.--As you were!' every time I chuck a brace
and try to climb up again. How's that for a bit of cheap cynicism?"--the
low, bitter laugh was not good to hear--"Man!"--the brooding eyes
narrowed--"I've sure plumbed the depths--knocking around, with the right
to live. Port Said, Buenos Aires, Shanghai. . . . I've certainly
travelled. Some day I'll throw the book at you. Now--substance and
ambition gone by the board long ago, and mighty little left of principle
I guess--I am--what I am--everything except a prodigal, or a
remittance-man--I never worried them at Home--that way. . . ."

He spoke with a sort of reckless earnestness that moved his hearer more
than that individual cared to show. Redmond felt it was useless to offer
mere conventional sympathy in a case like this. He did the next best
thing possible--he remained silently attentive and let the other run on.

"You take three men now--stationed in the same detachment," resumed Yorke
wearily, "by gum! they're thrown together mighty close when you come to
think of it. It's different to the Post, where there's a crowd. Life's
too short to start in explaining minutely just what that difference is.
Fact remains! . . . to get along and pull together they've got to like
each other--have something in common--give and take. Otherwise the
situation becomes d----d trying, and trouble soon starts in the family."

"By what divine right I should consider myself qualified to--to--Oh! shut
up, you young idiot! . . ." Redmond, forehead pressed into the speaker's
shoulder, giggled hysterically in spite of himself--"Shut up! d'you hear?
or I'll knock your silly block off!"

The two bodies shook, with their convulsive merriment. "You can't do it!
old thing," came George's smothered rejoinder, "and you know darned well
you can't--now! . . . Go on, you bloomin' Hodson!--proceed!"

Yorke gave ve