however, a solitary chair, for, though subalterns do not believe it,
a colonel has exactly that diffidence about approaching senior
civilians which a subaltern ought to feel.

In a moment all that was visible of him from the door was a pair of
brown riding-boots, very much fore-shortened, resting on the long arm
of a cane chair, and two sets of wonderfully modeled fingers that
held up a newspaper. From the window where the three men talked he
could be seen in profile.

"Wears well--doesn't he?" said one of them.

"Swears well, too, confound him!"

"Hah! Been trying to pump him, eh?"

"Yes. He's like a big bird catching flies--picks off your questions
one at a time, with one eye on you and the other one cocked for the
next question. Get nothing out of him but yes or no. Good fellow,
though, when you're not drawing him."

"You mean trying to draw him. He's the best that come. Wish they
were all like Kirby."

The man who had not spoken yet--he looked younger, was some years
older, and watched the faces of the other two while seeming to listen
to something in the distance--looked at a cheap watch nervously.

"Wish the Sikhs were all like Kirby!" he said. "If this business
comes to a head, we're going to wish we had a million Kirbys. What