"Give me just time for a cigarette before I take up such exhausting literary work," begged Algy, reaching for his gold cigarette case. "Have one, dear fellow?"
"Thank you, Ferrers. I don't smoke."
"Then what do you do with your time?"
"Work!"
"What beastly old rot the Army is!" murmured Algy, lying back in his easy chair and blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
Rap-tap! sounded at the door.
"Come in," called Algy. It was Lieutenant Holmes who entered.
"Howdy-do, Ferrers?" he hailed the new officer. "I heard Prescott was here and came to find him. You'll pardon me, won't you?"
"Nothing to pardon," murmured Algy.
"Old ramrod," began Lieutenant Holmes, turning to his chum and addressing him by the old West Point nickname, "I came to see you about your pet. He seems to be in increasing trouble."