"The 15th, sir."
"I'm going round to call on them. You carry on; you know what you have to do."
"I—I—if I might suggest, sir, I shouldn't. They're almost in open mutiny."
"That's how I like them." He picked up his gloves and hat, and walked to the door, where he paused for a second. "Look out for cheering from the 15th division, Old Un," he said, and went out.
"Trumpeter, come with me; not you, orderly—only Sykes there. On for a lark, William?"
"Yes, sir," from the trumpeter, a friend of many campaigns.
"Come on, then," and mounting his horse he rode away through the driving rain, the trumpeter following at some distance. At length they reached an open space, deep in slush, in which could be seen lying rusty rifles and accoutrements. These had been thrown down by their owners, who were now in the surrounding tents, where they lay sleeping or cursing their officers.
In the centre of the square Graeme stopped.
"Fifteenth division this, ain't it, Sykes?" he asked the trumpeter.
"That's her, sir," answered the man. "Gawd! look at them guns."