Dick had, after screwing himself up to the sticking-point, gone straight across to the general’s, interviewed the aide-de-camp on duty, sent in his card, and the officer came out to say Sir George would see him as soon as he had finished a letter.
The letter must have been a very brief one, for before the aide-de-camp and the visitor had got half into an account of the slaying of a wild boar with spears the general’s bell was heard.
“That’s for you, Mr Darrell,” said the staff officer, “entrez!”
Dick went in, and the keen-eyed, grey-haired gentleman in white, seated at his writing-table, rose and shook hands.
“How are you, Richard Darrell?” he said. “You are growing much like what your father was as a boy. Hah!”
He paused for a few moments, looking at the young man thoughtfully. Then he was the stern, businesslike officer again.
“Now, Mr Darrell,” he said gravely, “you wished to see me on particular business. As few words as you can, please, for I am much occupied over despatches from up the country. What is it—a petition?”
“Yes, Sir George,” said Dick, speaking with military precision; “I have come to beg that Private Robert Hanson of my troop may not be flogged.”
The general frowned, and stood looking at the young officer sternly; but Dick’s eyes did not for a moment blench.
“This is a strange application, Mr Darrell,” said the general sternly—“an extremely young subaltern applying to me, his general officer, to alter the sentence pronounced, after a proper trial, upon a man who for a long period has gone on breaking the regulations of the service. It is a most unheard-of proceeding on the part of a young officer.”