They were all army men in the carriage, and the conversation never flagged now it had been started.
“Are you going by the Serapis?” asked a gentleman sitting opposite Crawley, seeing cabin painted on his busby case in the net overhead.
“Yes,” replied Crawley. And then learning that he was bound for India the other inquired the presidency and the station, and it so happened that he had left that district only the year before, and was now settled in Hampshire, having been superannuated, at which he grumbled much, and indeed he was a hale young-looking man to be laid on the shelf. And so the time sped rapidly till they reached Portsmouth harbour, where a conspicuous white vessel, which was pointed out to Crawley as the Serapis, lay moored to a quay. Then he superintended the loading of his luggage in a cart, and taking a cab accompanied it through the dock-yard gates to a shed, where he saw it deposited as per regulation. Then he went to the “George,” where he had secured a bed, and on entering the coffee-room heard his name uttered in a tone of pleased surprise: “Crawley!”
“What, Buller! How are you, old fellow?”
“All right. Are you going out in the Serapis?”
“Yes; and you?”
“Yes.”
“That is jolly. What regiment are you in?”
“First Battalion Blankshire. Do you know I got into Sandhurst direct the first time I went up!”
“Of course you did; you would be sure to do anything you really meant; I always said so. I must go and report myself now and see about my detachment, for there are some men going out with me; but we shall meet at dinner.”