"I knew them all once," Edgar said. "We were at school together. I did not know that any of them were out here. I would not have them recognize me for anything."
"Oh, that is it! I thought you must have run away from school; got into some scrape, I suppose. Well, my lad, as you have made your bed you must lie in it. But it is not likely that any of them would know you even if they ran up against you. Two years' service under this sun changes a lad of your age wonderfully. By the way, one of them called the other Clinton; do you happen to know whether he is the son of a Captain Clinton—Captain Percy Clinton?"
"Yes, he is."
"He was captain of my company when I was a young sergeant. Well, well, time flies fast, to be sure. Do you know whether this young fellow has a brother, and, if so, what he is doing?"
"No, he has no brother," Edgar said shortly.
"There were two of them," the sergeant said positively. "Perhaps one has died. I wonder which it was," he muttered to himself.
"Do you know the story?" Edgar asked suddenly.
"Do I know the story!" the sergeant repeated slowly. "What story do you mean?"
"The story of Captain Clinton's baby being confused with another."
"Oh, you know about that, do you?" Sergeant Bowen asked in turn. "So they made no secret of it. Ay, lad, I know it; every man in the regiment knew it. And good cause I had to know it, it was that that ruined me."