the Scarifungers' Mess; and our Adjutant'll have to exchange, like it
was with that fellow in the 73rd Dragoons, and there'll be misery all
round. He means making it too hot for us, and his papa'll back him.'

'Yes, that's all very fine,' said The Infant; 'but I left the Service
about the time you were born, Bobby. What's it got to do with me?'

'Father told me I was always to go to you when I was in trouble, and
you've been awfully good to me since he ...'

'Better stay to dinner.' The Infant mopped his forehead.

'Thank you very much, but the fact is--' Trivett halted.

'This afternoon, about four, to be exact--' Eames broke in.

'We went over to Wontner's quarters to talk things over. The row only
happened last night, and we found him writing letters as hard as he
could to his father--getting up his case for the War Office, you know.
He read us some of 'em, but I'm not a good judge of style. We tried to
ride him off quietly--apologies and so forth--but it was the milk-punch
and mayonnaise that defeated us.'

'Yes, he wasn't taking anything except pure revenge,' said Eames.

'He said he'd make an example of the regiment, and he was particularly
glad that he'd landed our Colonel. He told us so. Old Dhurrah-bags don't
sympathise with Wontner's tactical lectures. He says Wontner ought to
learn manners first, but we thought--' Trivett turned to Eames, who was
less a son of the house than himself, Eames's father being still alive.