It was Stewart.
"Oh, I suppose that was a bit in bad taste, but when a chap's making his last will and testament, he forgets the teachings of the old kirk—"
"Sure! What time do you start?" from the little subaltern.
"Fire arms in good order?" put in Bennett.
"In an hour. No, I'm not going to trust any of these oily natives to clean them. I'll see to them myself."
Trevelyan moved away from the group.
"We'll have something on the strength of it!" said the little subaltern, "A toast: 'To the Queen—God bless her—and the Queen's courier!' How's that?"
He glanced conceitedly about the room. The men of the mess laughed good naturedly.
"Well, here's my hand on the success of it," said Mackenzie, a little later, at leaving. He suddenly regretted he had not been a bit kinder to the young engineer. A fellow with such nerve, deserved more than they had all given him.
They filed out after awhile. Stewart alone remained. He put his hand on Trevelyan's shoulder, as he had used to do long ago when they were boys, pacing the great library of a rainy afternoon, and he walked with Trevelyan up and down the length of the room.