"Sixteen field-guns," said Mark.
"Yes, you are right. Sixteen field-guns." Then as he realised from whom he had received this piece of information, he broke into an exclamation: "God bless me! How did you know that?"
"I've read the d-despatches," said Mark, blushing.
After dinner the general came up to Mark and asked him if he were going to be a soldier. On Mark's eager affirmative, he said deliberately: "When you are gazetted, my boy, come to see me. I'd like to make your better acquaintance."
For a week Mark could talk of nothing save the Indian Mutiny.
"You're too keen," said Jim. "Suppose we don't pass?"
"Not p-p-pass? That's a dead certainty."
"If we did not pass——"
"We could enlist, Jim. I say, you're not going into the Service because, b-b-because I am?"
"You lit the match," Jim admitted. "A fellow must do something. Soldiering's as good as anything else."