"Striker!" echoed Mr. Ferrers, a gleam of intelligence coming into his eyes. "No, thank you, Colonel. Strikers never work. I've heard my guv'nor talk about strikes in his business."
"'Striker,'" explained Colonel North, "is Army slang. Your 'striker' is a private soldier, whom you hire at so many a dollars a month to do the rougher work in your quarters. You make whatever bargain you choose with the soldier. At this post the bachelor officers usually pay a striker eight dollars a month."
"At that price I can afford a lot of 'em," responded Mr. Ferrers, brightening considerably.
"An unmarried officer is not allowed to have more than one striker in this regiment," said the colonel, whereat Ferrer's face showed his dismay. "Nor is any soldier obliged to become your striker. You cannot engage him unless the soldier is wholly willing. However, a good many men like the extra pay. You will be assigned to A company. Direct the first sergeant of that company to send you a man who is willing to serve as a striker. And now, Mr. Ferrers, as you appear to be wholly ignorant of Army life I think I will give you a mentor."
Turning to the telephone Colonel North called:
"Connect me with Lieutenant Prescott. Hello, is that you, Mr. Prescott? The regimental commander is speaking. My compliments, Mr. Prescott, and can you come over to headquarters? Thank you."
Ringing off the colonel turned to his very new young lieutenant, saying:
"Mr. Prescott is a last year's graduate of the Military Academy at West Point, and one of the most capable younger officers I have ever met. I can think of no man so well qualified to coach you in the start of your new life, Mr. Ferrers. You have some baggage with you?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Two trunks on the car."
"Then you have uniforms with you?"