a beast of myself," he thought, "has Tom Pollard come to that?"

"Where is there to go, sir, when one's day's work is over?" he asked
almost sulkily.

"Go?" replied the colonel, a little nonplussed, "go?" And then
remembering a visitor who came to him the previous day, he said:
"There's the Y.M.C.A. hall; they teach you something useful there."

After his punishment was over Tom could not help seeing that the better
class of fellows somewhat shunned him. He could not say he was
boycotted, but they showed no inclination to be in his company. This
touched his pride. "I am as good as they are," he said to himself,
"and a bit better nor some on 'em." He was delighted, however, to
notice that Penrose acted differently from the rest, although he was by
no means flattering.

"I told you you were an ass," he said. "If you go on in this way,
you'll end by being kicked out of the Army."

Again Tom was wounded deeply. "Kicked out of the Army!" He had never
dreamed of that. What! he, Tom Pollard, who had won prizes at the
Mechanics' Institute, and who had ambition of one day becoming a
manufacturer on his own account, kicked out of the Army!

"Come now, Tom," said Penrose, who almost repented of having spoken so
sharply, "it is not too late to turn over a new leaf, and you have the
makings of a fine fellow in you."

"I'd rather be kicked out of the Army as a straight chap than to be a
blooming white-livered hypocrite."

"And do you think I'm a white-livered hypocrite?"

"A sort of plaster saint, anyhow," retorted Tom.

"Anything but that, Tom," replied Penrose; "all the same I've taken a
liking to you."

"You have a nice way of showing it," replied Tom.

His anger was all gone now, for he instinctively felt that Penrose
meant to be friendly.

"Come with me to the Y.M.C.A. hall to-night," urged Penrose.

"Ay, and be preached to," said Tom, yielding rapidly to the other.

"I promise you there will be no preaching," said Penrose, with a laugh,
"unless you like to wait for it. Come now."

"All right, then," said Tom still sulkily, but glad that he had
yielded. A few minutes later they entered a large hall where perhaps
six or seven hundred soldiers had gathered.

There are few counties in England where music is more cultivated than
in Lancashire, and that night Tom listened almost spellbound. Songs
that he knew and loved were sung; songs which he had heard Alice Lister
sing. Recitations were given in