at
the best side of things myself, and so--"

"Most things haven't got a best side."

"Well, at the pretty good side, then."

"Nor a pretty good one."

"If they haven't got a pretty good one, it don't matter how you
look at them, I should think."

"No, I don't believe it does--much. Still, I should like to be
able to make a fool of myself, too, when I want, with the view of
getting others to do ditto, of course."

"I wish I could help you, old fellow; but I don't see my way to
it."

"I shall talk to our regimental doctor about it, and get put
through a course of fool's-diet before we start for India."

"Flap-doodle, they call it, what fools are fed on. But it's odd
that you should have broken out in this place, when all the way
home I've been doing nothing but envying you your special
talent."

"What's that?"

"Just the opposite one--the art of falling on your feet. I should
like to exchange with you."

"You'd make a precious bad bargain of it, then."

"There's twelve striking. I must knock in. Good night. You'll be
round to breakfast at nine."

"All right. I believe in your breakfasts, rather," said East, as
they shook hands at the gate of St. Ambrose, into which Tom
disappeared, while the lieutenant strolled back to the "Mitre."

CHAPTER XLII

THIRD YEAR

East returned to his regiment in a few days, and at the end of
the month the gallant 101st embarked for India. Tom wrote several
letters to the lieutenant, inclosing notes to Harry, with
gleanings of news from Englebourn, where his escape on the night
of the riot had been a nine-days' wonder; and, now that he was
fairly "'listed," and out of the way, public opinion was
beginning to turn in his favor. In due course a letter arrived
from the lieutenant, dated Cape Town, giving a prosperous account
of the voyage so far. East did not say much about "your convict,"
as he still insisted on calling Harry; but the little he did say
was very satisfactory, and Tom sent off this part of the letter
to Katie, to whom he had confided the whole story, entreating her
to make the best use of it in the interest of the young soldier.
And, after this out-of-the-way beginning, he settled down into
the usual routine of his Oxford life.

This change in his opinions and objects of interest brought him
now into more intimate relations with a set of whom he had, as
yet, seen little. For want of a better name, we may call them
"the party of progress." At their pa