They had a quart ‘of the best;’ Hanlon called for it--and drank it, all but a glass; a second quart followed, and a third; and as the little veteran became more and more steeped in liquor he grew more and more communicative. He told Herbert all about the regiment; who were the chief personages in it; he spoke with awe of the sergeant-major, but of the colonel as a familiar friend. He described the ways of the officers, the habits and customs of the regiment, the chances there were of promotion for a smart lad who’d had any schooling and knew how to keep himself straight. ‘Can you read? good--and write? better still. If you can only cipher and do accounts you won’t have long to wait for a lance stripe. I’ll get it for you, aye and more too. I’ll get you put in the orderly-room as a clerk, or perhaps the pay office. You shall be a colour-sergeant before you’re many years older; who knows, perhaps you’ll be sergeant-major afore you die. All through Joe Hanlon; poor old Joe Hanlon--Letshavesmoreale.’ From Hanlon drunk to Hanlon sober there was a great distance. The big promises he made so freely in his cups were all of them forgotten next day. Yet the little man was, in his way, a good friend to Herbert Larkins. In the days, arduous and often wearisome, of the recruit’s novitiate, the old soldier acted always as mentor and adviser. He taught Herbert all he knew. He helped him with his exercises, rehearsing the manual and platoon in the privacy of the citadel ditch, so that Herbert soon won especial favour with the drill instructor of his squad; he took a pride in Herbert’s personal appearance, arranged a ‘swop’ for the misfitting jacket and highlows, contracted with one of the regimental tailors to alter the baggy trousers in his spare hours. ‘I’ll make you the smartest soldier in the Duke’s Own,’ said ‘the Boy’ enthusiastically. ‘You’re the right stuff; you’ve got it in you; you’re a soldier born, every inch. I don’t ask no questions. I don’t want to know who you are, or where you comes from, but you’ve got soldier’s blood in you; you come of a soldier’s stock, I’ll wager a gallon of the best four ale. I like you, lad. You’re free handed and open spoken, and you’ve got an honest mug of your own. I like you, and I’ll stick to you through thick and thin.’ The advantages of Boy Hanlon’s counsel and protection were soon apparent. Herbert, thanks to Hanlon’s coaching, but aided not a little by his own native intelligence, and the excellent education he had received, proved an apt scholar in the military school. He soon learnt his drill, and was passed for duty much more quickly than was usually the case with recruits. Mr. Farrington, who had commenced drill at the same time, but who enjoyed the officer’s privilege of taking it easy, and who was somewhat slow of apprehension to boot, was still at company drill when Private Larkins, fully accoutred, and admirably ‘turned out,’ took his place in the ranks on guard, mounting parade.