"Aw—I wouldn't be hard on him, don't you know. I'm sure it was only"—
The Englishman was genuine now, so that despite his airs and graces the Colonel liked him. Even the mess waiter, standing with a wooden face behind, allowed a glance to escape of intelligent appreciation, and the senior Inspector, noting it, was glad that news of this plea for mercy would reach the troop.
The Colonel changed the subject. "Well, Mr. Ramsay, how do you like our mountains?"
Again the Tenderfoot fell into needless embarrassment, until little Gunby came to his relief.
"Mr. Ramsay turned up last night, sir, on horseback." The Subaltern could not refrain from grinning at the remembrance. "He's got business up at the Throne Camp, so I took the liberty of promising"—
"A man to show him the way, eh? Quite right. Mr. Ramsay is welcome. Who's Orderly Officer? Oh! Then Mr. Fraser Gaye will detail a good man—and now"—
The Colonel rose, seeming scarcely to have taken more than a cup of coffee, and with a glance drew the senior Subaltern to his own tent, where he received a full report of events during his late absence.
"Get rid of that young fool," was his last instruction before closing the interview. "If you let him stay in camp another day I shall have to punish half the men for practical jokes. Get rid of him before noon."
"Come to your mother, my love,
Come to your mother, my boy."
Defaulters Call.
"Regimental Number 1107, Constable la Mancha," the Colonel read from a sheet of blue foolscap, "you are charged with having, on the night of the 2nd instant, been drunk."