practice again with so much as a scratch on
your two ugly little faces,' thundered the Bandmaster, 'I'll tell the
Drum-Major to take the skin off your backs. Understand that, you young
devils.'

Then he repented of his speech for just the length of time that Lew,
looking like a Seraph in red worsted embellishments, took the place of
one of the trumpets--in hospital--and rendered the echo of a
battle-piece. Lew certainly was a musician, and had often in his more
exalted moments expressed a yearning to master every instrument of the
Band.

'There's nothing to prevent your becoming a Bandmaster, Lew,' said
the Bandmaster, who had composed waltzes of his own, and worked day
and night in the interests of the Band.

'What did he say?' demanded Jakin after practice.

''Said I might be a bloomin' Bandmaster, an' be asked in to 'ave a
glass o' sherry-wine on Mess-nights.'

'Ho! 'Said you might be a bloomin' non-combatant, did 'e! That's just
about wot 'e would say. When I've put in my boy's service--it's a
bloomin' shame that doesn't count for pension--I'll take on as a
privit. Then I'll be a Lance in a year--knowin' what I know about the
ins an' outs o' things. In three years I'll be a bloomin' Sergeant. I
won't marry then, not I! I'll 'old on and learn the orf'cers' ways an'
apply for exchange into a reg'ment that doesn't know all about me.
Then I'll be a bloomin' orf'cer. Then I'll ask you to 'ave a glass o'
sherry-wine, _Mister_ Lew, an' you'll bloomin' well 'ave to stay in
the hanty-room while the Mess-Sergeant brings it to your dirty 'ands.'

''S'pose I'm going to be a Bandmaster? Not I, quite. I'll be a orf'cer
too. There's nothin' like takin' to a thing an' stickin' to it, the
Schoolmaster says. The reg'ment don't go 'ome for another seven years.
I'll be a Lance then or near to.'

Thus the boys discussed their futures, and conducted themselves
piously for a week. That is to say, Lew started a flirtation with the
Colour-Sergeant's daughter, aged thirteen--'not,' as he explained to
Jakin, 'with any intention o' matrimony, but by way o' keepin' my 'and
in.' And the black-haired Cris Delighan enjoyed that flirtation more
than previous ones, and the other drummer-boys raged furiously
together, and Jakin preached sermons on the dangers of 'bein' tangled
along o' petticoats.'

But neither love nor virtue would have held Lew long in the paths of
propriety had not the rumour gone abroad that the Regiment was to be
sent