comes
mess call to supper. With that ends, usually, the working day of the
enlisted man. Tattoo sounds at 9 in the evening, with call to quarters
at 10.45, and taps, or lights out, at 11 p. m. Except when on guard or
special duty you're not likely to have to be with your men much after
retreat."

"Oh, I should hope not," exclaimed Algy Ferrers fervently. "By supper
time I can see myself a nervous wreck."

"Oh, you'll get used to it," laughed Prescott. "The rest of us all had
to."

"And at all of those beastly things and jobs you enumerated, Prescott,
I've got to be present and actually do a lot of work?"

"A big lot of work, you'll find."

"And yet they call being an officer in the Army a gentleman's life."

"Yes," replied Prescott, his eyes opening rather wide. "Don't you
consider that one may be a gentleman and yet be industrious?"

"Oh, I reckon so," sighed Algy Ferrers. "But it all seems a beastly
grind."

"Then how did your ever come to think of going into the Army?"

"I didn't," almost flared up Algy. "It was the guv'nor. He forced me
into it. Said he'd cut my allowance off altogether, and leave me out of
his will if I didn't get to work. And he chose the Army for me, and put
the whole thing through. Wasn't it beastly of the guv'nor?"

"I'm not so sure that it was," smiled Lieutenant Prescott. "Of course it
was different with me. My father worked, and had to, or starve. It was
the same with me, which may be why I can look upon the idea of a lot of
work without feeling insulted by fate. But I reckon, Ferrers, that no
man is worth his salt in the world unless he does work."

This was the day after Algy's arrival. Colonel North and Major Silsbee
had not yet put the new young officer actually at work. They had allowed
him this time of grace to get settled in his new quarters, and to talk
over his new duties with young Prescott.

"I can never remember all that long list of things you told me, dear
fellow," complained Algy. "Won't you do me a great, big favor?"

"What?"

"Write down for me that--er--time table you laid down for me."

"No." Lieutenant Prescott's tone was almost abrupt. "I'll repeat it to
you, Ferrers, and you can write it down for yourself. Get a pencil and
paper."

"Give me just time for a cigarette before I take up such exhausting
literary work," begged Algy, reaching for his gold cigarette case. "Have
one, dear fellow?"

"Thank you, Ferrers. I don't smoke."

"Then what do you d