painting of Sergeant Broughton an object of absorbing
interest.

This inquiry meeting with no response from the Slimy Slacker, (to use
McNab's expressive name for him), he gave utterance to a sigh of
resignation.

"I believe, sir," suggested an old gentleman who was warming his toes at
the fire, "that you deposited the gentleman's cigarette
case--er--inadvertently in your own pocket!"

"Why, strike me crimson!" cried McNab, diving his beef-steakish hands
into his tunic pockets. "Why, so I did! I'm the biggest giddy fool at
that kind of wheeze that ever lived. It's a knock-out, ain't it? Never
mind--'_honi soit qui mal y_ eighteen pence,' as the French poet bloke
said!

"It so happened that on the very next day our old man's servant went
sick, and in spite of my extreme youth and innocence, I was selected
from the crowd to fill the vacant billet. And then it was that the
Colonel realised that fate had dropped a heaven-sent blessing on his
knees in the shape of a--well, in the shape of an ingenious bloke like
me. He lifted up his voice in thanksgiving for that the British Army
held warriors so wise, and then looked up his whiskey and cigars.

"At one end of Quality Street there stood a Y.M.C.A. hut. On the next
day when I pushed the door of this Bun-Wallah's paradise open, the first
person I saw was old Tommy--Tommy wot had fought up and down the
Godforsaken veldt with me for three years on end, Tommy who had always
the knack of droppin' out of the blue from nowhere.

"'Well, 'ere's a go!' he cried dropping half a cup of boiling coffee
down another chap's neck, as 'is smile broadened, 'it's a 'ell of a time
since I struck you.'

"I saw the dawn of recognition on his ugly mug; and I could have guessed
to a word the joyful expressions of welcome that were springing to his
lips."

McNab paused.

"Quite so," I prompted, seeing the change that took place in my friend's
face.

"I am afraid I should have guessed dead wrong," continued McNab with his
eyes downcast. "However, what he did spit out was: 'strike me up a
gum-tree if it ain't the bloke what borrowed 'alf a crown off me when I
was quartered at the "Shot" in '98.'

"I was pretty well worked up at this remark; but I said to him with
quiet dignity: 'I believe, Tommy, that I sent it back by post.'

"'You sent me back a threepenny bit,' he says, with a very naughty word,
'and told me it was my 'alf crown worn down.'

"'Come, come, old chum!' I laughed, 'le