"Ah, yes," replied Semberry, in his crisp, abrupt way; "Mallow the sportsman. I remember."
"Say, rather, Mallow the scribe--in India, Major. It was my mission to scribble out there."
"By George, yes. Read some of your letters in paper. You dropped on us hot, Mallow--deuced hot. What are you doing in these parts?"
"Idling, Major, at the expense of Lord Aldean."
"Met him in London," said Semberry, staccato; "nice boy, make good Army man. No brains, plenty muscle."
"Oh, Aldean has a good deal more mental power than people give him credit for."
"Dark horse, eh?"
"Well, he may yet prove to be so. As to your no brains for the Army,' Major, I fancy you depreciate your profession. They don't make the fool of the family a soldier now--they certainly did not in your case."
The Major acknowledged the compliment with a bow, but did not reply.
"Do you know, Semberry, that I am about to hear my character?" said Carson, blandly.