"But these three men could themselves alone quell a mutiny," I replied.
The Colonel grasped my hand warmly. "Thank you. So they could. I never thought of that." He looked relieved. For all that, he presently passed his hand over his forehead and nervously chewed his cheroot.
"There is something else," I said.
"You are right. There is. It is a secret. Promise me it shall go no further—than the Press? Nay, swear that you will KEEP it for the Press!"
"I promise."
"Thank you SO much. It is a matter of my own and Mulledwiney's. The fact is, we have had a PERSONAL difficulty." He paused, glanced around him, and continued in a low, agitated voice: "Yesterday I came upon him as he was sitting leaning against the barrack wall. In a spirit of playfulness—mere playfulness, I assure you, sir—I poked him lightly in the shoulder with my stick, saying 'Boo!' He turned—and I shall never forget the look he gave me."
"Good heavens!" I gasped, "you touched—absolutely TOUCHED—Mulledwiney?"
"Yes," he said hurriedly, "I knew what you would say; it was against the Queen's Regulations—and—there was his sensitive nature which shrinks from even a harsh word; but I did it, and of course he has me in his power."
"And you have touched him?" I repeated,—"touched his private honor!"
"Yes! But I shall atone for it! I have already arranged with him that we shall have it out between ourselves alone, in the jungle, stripped to the buff, with our fists—Queensberry rules! I haven't fought since I stood up against Spinks Major—you remember old Spinks, now of the Bombay Offensibles?—at Eton." And the old boy pluckily bared his skinny arm.