he had played the part of
elderly relative towards Rallywood during the course of their queer,
rough-grained friendship--a friendship of a type which exists only
between man and man, and even then is sufficiently rare.

'Precisely, I'm too infernally used to it! It was not half bad as long
as the newness lasted, but I can't stand it any longer! I'm sick of the
monotony. Do you know old Fitzadams's criticism on the service here?
"Dust and drill, drill and dust, and fill in the chinks with homicidal
manoeuvres."'

'Maasau only apes its betters. These Continental armies devote
themselves very assiduously to rehearsals, and there is no end of waste
about the process,' remarked Counsellor. 'They rehearse in summer and
get sunstroke; then they rehearse in winter with rheumatisms and lung
troubles growing on every bush. The bill for blank cartridges alone is
enormous! And all because they have no India and no Africa, as we have,
where we can give our fellows a taste of the real thing any day in the
week. We carry on a small war with a regiment, or despatch a youngster
with half a company to teach manners and honesty to twenty thousand
niggers. The peculiarity of our army is that it is always at war. In
this way we escape the dangers of theory, and get practice with
something for our money into the bargain.'

'Our plan has its advantages,' agreed Rallywood lazily. 'I saw in South
Africa what a little active service does for a man. The first time he
is under fire he is persuaded that he is going to be killed, and that
every shot must hit him. But after a trial or two he begins to think the
odds are in his favour and he becomes a much more effective fighting
machine.'

'Necessarily he does. We don't half realise the value of our colonies
yet--as a training ground for our soldiers. The British army is the
smallest in Europe, but it remains to be seen what account it will give
of itself if it is ever brought into contact with these huge,
peace-trained conscript monsters.'

'When the Duke dies----' began Rallywood, harking back to the former
topic of conversation.

The door was softly opened, and a waiter advanced into the room, bearing
a letter for Rallywood, who took it and laid it down on the table beside
him, then looked at Counsellor for an answer to his half spoken
question. Counsellor shrugged his shoulders.

'Who can tell?' he replied. 'Meanwhile take the gifts the gods have sent
you to-day,' and he pointed to the