“This is a regular valet, sir.”
“But—really, Smithson, I’m afraid I’m very lazy—can he shave?”
“Oh, yes, sir, and cut hair admirably.”
“Indeed? A friend of yours?”
“Well, sir, not exactly; I used to know him.”
“Whose company is he in?”
“Unfortunately, sir, he is not in this regiment.”
“Smithson! how can you?” cried the lieutenant in lachrymose tones. “What is the use of raising my hopes to dash them down? Is he a man of bad character who wants to join?”
“No, sir; he is a soldier already; but he is in the 310th, sir—the regiment we ‘played in’ the other day.”
“In the 310th?” said the lieutenant, thoughtfully.