aster, Jerry; and you know it."

"I do, Dick Smithson; and I want him to know he's got a good servant."

"Oh, he'll find that out, Jerry. Yes! you were going to say something?"

"I were, sir--I mean Dick Smithson. Did you know as he was friends with
your cousin?"

"No, surely not!"

"Fact, sir. He come to Mr Lacey's quarters this morning. I was sewing
on buttons in the next room, and couldn't help hearing something about
odds; and that set me up sharp, for I knows what odds mean--no one
better."

"But you shouldn't have listened."

"I didn't, Dick Smithson; but I heered enough to show as S'Mark--I--I
beg your pardon."

Dick started; but he said nothing, and Jerry went on.

"As your cousin's feeling his way with Mr Lacey--and, if he is, it
means betting and play, and bleeding of him orful. Couldn't you give
him a hint, as someone we knows ain't to be trusted?"

Dick was silent for a few moments, and then said between his teeth--

"No, Jerry. Mr Lacey--if my cousin is a scoundrel--must find it out
for himself."

"But that seems hard," said Jerry.

"It will be hard for Mark Frayne if there's anything wrong. Mr Lacey
is not such a--"

"Fool as he looks? that was what you was going to say. Well, I'm glad
o' that."

And Jerry soon after took his leave, telling Dick not to be downhearted,
for things would come right.

"Yes," muttered Jerry, "and the guv'nor jolly soon will find out about
Mr Mark. If I was him, I'd lock up my money--and my young lady, too."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DICK PIPES--HIS COUSIN DANCES.

A loud cough, the twinkling of Mr Wilkins' spectacles, and a peculiar
clearing of the voice, which made Sergeant Brumpton, who had been hard
at work making ominous sounds on the bombardon, turn his head and smile
at Dick--then standing in his place waiting to begin--and making him
lower his head to examine the music; for, if he had smiled there, just
in front of the bandmaster, it must have been seen, and taken as an
insult.

"I have just received a communication from the colonel," said Mr
Wilkins. "We are to have a ball at the mess-room, and the 310th are
coming. I shall have a few picked men from their band to make up, but,
of course, ours will take the lead. Let me see: Granger, you'll get out
your double-bass; Robson and Dean, violins; Boston, cornet--you lead
clarionet and hautboy; Brown, bassoon. I suppose we must have you,
Smithson--one flute will be enough. The 310th