smiled no more to himself.

Burgess was in the room, cross-legged on the floor, ironing out his
master's best coat.

"What the devil are you about," said Philip ungraciously. "Get up.
I need what floor I've got to stand on."

Burgess obediently laid the board and the coat on a trunk and
continued ironing; and Philip scowled at him askance.

"Why don't you enlist?" he said. "Every car-driver, stage-driver,
hackman, and racing-tout can become major-generals if they yell
loud enough."

Burgess continued ironing, then stole a glance at his master.

"Are you thinking of enlisting, sir?"

"No; I can't pass the examination for lung power. By the way," he
added, laughing, "I overlooked the impudence of your question, too.
But now is your time, Burgess. If I wanted you I'd have to put up
with your insolence, I suppose."

"But you don't want me, sir."

"Which restrains you," said Philip, laughing. "Oh, go on, my
friend. Don't say 'sir' to me; it's a badge of servitude pasted
onto the vernacular. Say 'Hi!' if you like."