"But—but the bullocks can go no farther!" stammered the poor man.
"And if so, who is responsible? Are you, Sir?" Paget demanded suddenly of the subaltern.
"No, General," the young man answered, saluting. "I beg to say that as far back as Nogales I pointed out the condition of these beasts, and also where in that place fresh animals were to be found: but I was bidden to hold my tongue."
"Do you admit this?" Paget swung round again upon the Assistant-Paymaster.
"Upon my word, Sir," the poor man tried to bluster, "I am not to be cross-examined in this fashion. I do not belong to the reserve, and I take my orders——"
"Then what the devil are you doing here? And how is it I catch you ordering my reserve about? By the look of it, a moment ago you were even attempting to teach my horse-artillery its business."
"He was urging me, Sir," said the artillery-captain grimly, "to abandon my guns and hitch my teams on to his carts."
The General's expression changed, and he bent upon the little man in blue a smile that was almost caressing. "I beg your pardon, Sir: it appears that I have quite failed to appreciate you."
"Do not mention it, Sir. You see, with a sum of twenty-five thousand pounds at stake——"