"Come in, Sergeant Mactavish," said Blackie, and Tam's heart went down into his boots.
To be called by his surname was a happening which had only one significance. There was trouble of sorts, and Tam hated trouble.
"There are some facts which General Headquarters have asked me to verify—your age is twenty-seven?"
"Yes, sir-r."
"You hold the military medal, the French Médaille Militaire, the Russian medal of St. George and the French Croix de Guerre?"
"Oh, aye, Captain Blackie, sir-r, but A've no' worn 'em yet."
"You were created King's Corporal for an act of valor on January 17, 1915?" Blackie went on, consulting a paper.
"Yes, sir-r."
Blackie nodded. "That's all, Sergeant," he said, and as Tam saluted and turned, "oh, by-the-way, Sergeant—we had a brass ha—I mean a staff officer here the other day and he reported rather unfavorably upon a practise of yours—er—ours. It was a question of discipline—you know it is not usual for a non-commissioned officer to be on such friendly terms with—er—officers. And I think he saw you in the anteroom of the mess. So I told him something which was not at the time exactly true."