Boswell,' he said at last, 'and
I should like to get it over. I had two or three months at Scutari and I
was nursed by an angel all the while.'

'Don't go on, my lad,' said the General, reaching a hand towards him.
'If I understand you, it's useless to talk of that.'

'Very well, sir,' said De Blacquaire, sipping gloomily at his wine; and
nothing more was said for a minute or two, but the younger man gradually
brightened, and it could be plainly seen that he was squaring his mental
shoulders for the reception of a burden which he meant to cany.

'The Sergeant is a lucky dog, sir.'

'My dear fellow,' said the General, 'he has deserved to be a lucky dog.
It is one of the ordinances of this life that a fellow can't choose his
own father. If the lad had had a choice and had exercised it, I should
have had no great respect for him. And yet I had a sort of liking for
old Jervase. He was a bounder always, but I thought he was an honest
bounder.'

'They tell me,' said De Blacquaire, 'that the Sergeant's to have his
V.C. for that business in front of the first parallel.'

'That's a settled thing, I fancy,' said the General 'Sir Colin's
word ought to be good for anything at home, and my own should go for
something.'

'Mine won't be wanting, sir, if they think it worth listening to.'

'What did you two fall out about?' the General asked.

Major de Blacquaire dipped into the cigar box which had been pushed over
towards him long before, and very thoughtfully fingered an evil-looking
Trichinopoli.

'Why, sir, I believe if the whole truth were told we fell out mainly
because I was a bit of a puppy. You're an older man of the world than
I am, sir, and I dare say you can't have failed to notice that some men
who think they are insiders are outsiders, and that some of the fellows
they despise are better than themselves.'

'Do you know, De Blacquaire,' said the General, 'I like that?'

'A year in camp, and two or three months in hospital, will do a lot
towards changing a man's opinions.'

'Won't they?' cried the General. 'Egad! Won't they?' The old Christian
Quixote mounted his hobby, and rode. 'There are things in war that
nobody wants to think about. It's an ugly trade. When I was a youngster,
and in my first action I was very hard-pressed, and I caught a bayonet
out of the hand of a fellow who was dropping at my side, and I had to
use it. It's fifty years ago now, but the man squealed and I haven't
forgotten it, and I'