at home. Your Colonel knows me, I think.' He gave his name. Mr.
Wontner seemed to have heard of it. We had to pick Eames off the floor,
where he had cast himself from excess of delight.

'Oh, Heavens!' said Mr. Wontner after a long pause. 'What have I done?
What haven't I done?' We felt the temperature in the car rise as
he blushed.

'You didn't talk tactics, Clausewitz?' said Bobby. 'Oh, say it wasn't
tactics, darling!'

'It was,' said Wontner.

Eames was all among our feet again, crying, 'If you don't let me get my
arms up, I'll be sick. Let's hear what you said. Tell us.'

But Mr. Wontner turned to Stalky. 'It's no good my begging your pardon,
sir, I suppose,' he said.

'Don't you notice 'em,' said Stalky. 'It was a fair rag all round, and
anyhow, you two youngsters haven't any right to talk tactics. You've
been rolled up, horse, foot, and guns.'

'I'll make a treaty. If you'll let us go and change presently,' said
Bobby, 'I'll promise we won't tell about you, Clausewitz. _You_ talked
tactics to Uncle Len? Old Dhurrah-bags will like that. He don't love
you, Claus.'

'If I've made one ass of myself, I shall take extra care to make asses
of you!' said Wontner. 'I want to stop, please, at the next milliner's
shop on the right. It ought to be close here.'

He evidently knew the country even in the dark, for the car stopped at a
brilliantly-lighted millinery establishment, where--it was Saturday
evening--a young lady was clearing up the counter. I followed him, as a
good reporter should.

'Have you got--' he began. 'Ah, those'll do!' He pointed to two hairy
plush beehive bonnets, one magenta, the other a conscientious electric
blue. 'How much, please? I'll take them both, and that bunch of peacock
feathers, and that red feather thing.' It was a brilliant crimson-dyed
pigeon's wing.

'Now I want some yards of muslin with a nice, fierce pattern, please.'
He got it--yellow with black tulips--and returned heavily laden.

'Sorry to have kept you,' said he. 'Now we'll go to my quarters to
change and beautify.'

We came to them--opposite a dun waste of parade-ground that might have
been Mian Mir--and bugles as they blew and drums as they rolled set
heart-strings echoing.

We hoisted the boys out and arranged them on chairs, while Wontner
changed into uniform, but stopped when he saw me taking off my jacket.

'What on earth's that for?' said he.

'Because you've been wearing my evening things,' I said. 'I wan