The look which accompanied these harsh-sounding words was genial enough, and Terence had the wit to understand the hint conveyed, namely, that he now belonged to a disciplined body, whose dealings with their superiors were very nicely regulated.
'Now then, you,' said Horn to George. 'What's your name?'
Confident that before he had been many hours a soldier some of the officers would be sure to recognise him, George thought it useless to assume a nom de guerre. So he answered in a clear voice, 'George Haughton.'
'George Haughton!' sounded like an echo behind him. 'So it is! And what brings you here, George?'
And at the sound of that too-familiar voice, which he recognised as that of his father's old friend, Colonel Cranstoun, commanding the 600th, George realised with bitter disappointment that his chance of taking the Queen's shilling that day was as good as gone.
Colonel Cranstoun had watched the scene on the foredeck under the impression that the sergeant-major was interrogating a couple of stowaways, but when he saw the pair line up, he suspected some irregularity, and hastened to investigate the matter. He was short-sighted, so that it was not until he neared the group that he was struck by something familiar in the appearance of the two young men; but, as he came up behind them, it was only when he heard George's name that he realised, to his unbounded surprise, that the would-be recruit was the son of his old friend and sword-brother, Colonel Haughton.
'What on earth are you doing here, George?' repeated the amazed chief, as the men fell back respectfully.
'I was just going to enlist, sir,' George answered quietly, though inwardly he was raging.
'Oh! Were you indeed?' said Colonel Cranstoun dryly. 'And Mr. Moore? Does he, too, wish to enlist?'
'Begging your pardon, sir,' put in Horn, saluting, 'he has this moment enlisted.'