The R.S.M. of the 5th Middlesex Fusiliers, too, was a martinet of the most approved Regular Army type. His horizon was bounded on the one side by King's Regulations and on the other by the Manual of Military Law; and if he should become aware that a private of his battalion was so lost to the meaning of military discipline as to keep an unauthorized familiar spirit, the only possible result would be an explosion of wrath too terrible even to contemplate. Of this threat, therefore, Bill Grant made shameless use; and day by day he became more bibulous, Eustace more displeased, and Alf more miserable. Alf racked his rather inadequate brains in the hope that Necessity would acknowledge her reputed offspring, Invention, and find him a way out of his troubles. But in the end Bill brought about his own undoing. He had a lively and, in his cups, a lurid imagination; and by giving it too free rein, he suggested to Alf a counter-threat. "'Ow'd it be, ole f'ler," said Bill thickly, on the second day, after having kept Eustace almost continuously employed for several hours, "to 'ave old Eustish up again 'n tell 'im to turn the R.Esh.M. into a rhinosherush?" To Alf this remark seemed not so much humorous as blasphemous; but it was also most illuminating. It opened his eyes to an aspect of his new powers which, left to himself, he would never have thought of. "Look 'ere, Bill Grant!" he said, in suddenly confident tones. "That'll be about enough from you, see? Not another drop o' beer do you get till I says so. 'E's _my_ spook, Eustace is; an' if I 'as any more o' yer nonsense I'll take an' tell 'im to change _you_ into something. 'Ow'd yer like to be a--a transport mule, eh?" Bill, suddenly smitten into something approaching sobriety, had no word to say. Alf, following up his advantage, continued his harangue. "Not one drop more do yer get," he reiterated. "Eustace 'as been gettin' that fed up, I've been expectin' 'im to give me a month's notice any minute. An' nice we'd look if 'e started playin' monkey tricks on 'is own. All this beer business, you know; it ain't what 'e's been brought up to." "'E can't do nothin', not without you tells 'im," said Bill, with a certainty he was far from feeling. "Ah, an' 'ow do we know that? 'E might break loose an' then where'd we be? I've fair got the wind up, I tell yer. What we wanted to do is to 'umor the blighter." "'Ow?" "I dunno. 'Ow'd it be to give 'im something to do as 'e'd really enjoy--a decent job just to put 'im in a good temper again?" "Buildin' palaces was 'is old line," mused Bill. "Aye, but buildin' palaces 'ere would be just a blighted waste o' time," replied Alf, with strong common sense. "Can't you think o' nothin' else?" Bill pondered deeply. "Tell 'im," he suggested at last, "to bring us a girl. I'm fair sick for the sight of a pretty face." "Dunno if that's much good. 'E mayn't care for females."