ou met any others of our
fellows out here?"

"Not from our house, but I know there are seven or eight fellows of
about our own standing out here altogether."

"If we are up here in the cold weather," Skinner said, "that is, if
there ever is any cold weather, we will get a football made and
challenge a team from any other school."

"Don't talk about it," Easton said plaintively. "It throws me into a
perspiration even to think about it. The dust would be something awful.
Possibly if we are up here through the winter, or through the period
they are pleased to call winter, we might get up cricket; but as for
football, it is out of the question. Of course if we were stationed at
Dongola, or Berber, or Khartoum, we could get the bats and stumps and
things sent up to us. It would be fun if it were only to see how these
lazy, squatting beggars would stare when they saw us at it."

"But you were never enthusiastic about cricket."

"No. But then, you see, I do not propose to play on our side. My idea is
that I should sit down on the sands in the shade of the scrub and smoke
my pipe quietly. That is the oriental idea of taking exercise; pay
somebody to dance for you, and sit and watch them, but do not think of
attempting to take a hand yourself. It would be fatal to any respect
these Egyptians may feel for us if they were to see us rushing about the
sand like maniacs in pursuit of a ball. However, though I should not
play myself, I should take a lively interest, Skinner, in seeing you and
Clinton working hard. But I must be going, it is near time for us to
parade. Come across to my tent at nine o'clock this evening. I cannot
ask you to dinner--that must be deferred until we get home again--but we
can smoke a pipe and talk over old days; and I can give you a glass of
good brandy and water, which is a change from the commissariat rum. I
managed to smuggle up half a dozen bottles."

Edgar was much disturbed by the story he had heard so unexpectedly from
the sergeant. He regretted now that he had acted so hastily. Certainly
the story put a completely new complexion on the case, and his chance of
being Captain Clinton's son was just the same as it had ever been. He
wondered whether his father and mother--for so in his thoughts he always
named them--had doubted the truth of this woman's statement to him, or
whether they had believed it as he had done, and had put him out of
their hearts as one with whom they had nothing to do, and