'Any news, O'Farrel?' asked Jerry, as he rasped his thick hair with a pair of ivory-handled brushes to adjust the parting of his back hair.
'Only that the Sultan of Turkey is dead, sir.'
'The deuce he is—died of want of breath, I suppose?'
'Yes, sir; strangled or something of that kind, sir.'
'Well, O'Farrel, would you like to be Sultan of Turkey? The berth would suit you, for, like the Bradies,
"You'd make a most iligant Turk,
Being fond of tobacco and ladies."'
'Shouldn't mind, sir, if the pay and allowances was good.'
'Well,' said Jerry, who was in excellent spirits with himself and the world at large, 'send in your application in proper form through me as the captain of your company, and in time I have not the slightest doubt you will be O'Farrel the First.'
Jerry said all this so gravely and impressively that, though used to his jokes, not a smile spread over the face of Larry, who raised his right hand in salute while standing erect as a pike.
He had heard about the Champac necklace and the proposed second visit of Tony Dalton, so he resolved to anticipate his brother officer, to 'turn his flank,' if possible, for Jerry was never more in love in his life, or thought himself so.