“What’s the matter, young ’un, you look miserable? Is your cut smarting, or had you set your heart on promotion and feel disappointed? It’s a shame! I think you ought to be promoted!”
“No, it isn’t,” Ted contradicted testily.
“Ted, whatever is the matter?”
“Oh, I’m not well, Jim! I’m sorry I’m such a brute.”
“You look bad, young ’un; you must have that cut seen to. I thought you were queer as we came along.”
Ted turned on his heel.
“Don’t wait for me,” he muttered, and retraced his steps towards the tent he had just quitted, leaving Jim staring in bewilderment. Recognizing the ensign, the sentry gave admittance without question. General Wilson was still with his junior, and both turned their heads as he entered.
“Well, Russell, what is it?” General Wilson asked with surprise.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” faltered Ted, “I’ve been deceiving you.”
“How? What do you mean?”