‘Any one lend me a brown and I’ll treat myself to a bloater,’ said Hodson; but no answer being forthcoming, with a cheery whistle he turned, noticed Parkes on his bed, who continued to snore loudly, gave him a sounding smack on the tightest part of his overalls, and cried out, ‘Wake up, you lazy pig, and shut that row.’ Parkes jumped to his feet and asked who had struck him. ‘Dawes,’ whispered Hodson, pointing to the red-headed, blubber-lipped trumpeter, who was standing with his back to Parkes. The latter youth, with an angry cry, charged the supposed culprit, and in a second they were trying to tear one another’s head off, while Hodson was looking out of the window. Jack went off with Brown to the cook-house to get the tea, and on their way they called in at the canteen, where Jack got a stamp, and took the opportunity of posting his letter. He then helped Brown to get the things wanted, and bought a bloater, already cooked of course, which he took back for Hodson. ‘You’ve made a mistake, chummy; I didn’t order it. I’m broke,’ said Hodson, when Jack returned. ‘If you would not mind accepting it from me’---- began Jack bashfully. ‘Mind? Why, I’d accept anything from anybody. Blair, you’re a trump; you’ve got sense. You and me are going to be friends,’ he concluded with a total disregard of grammar, most of the trumpeters knowing far more about the Queen’s Regulations than about the Queen’s English. Tea passed off quietly, after which Napper went out, never giving Jack a look. At the time fixed he went to the trumpet-major’s quarters, received his trumpet and bugle, together with a few instructions about the morrow, and then returned to his room. With the exception of Napper, the trumpeters had to be in barracks early, all of them parading at nine o’clock to sound ‘First post,’ and again at nine-thirty ‘Last post,’ after which they went to their quarters, lights being out at ten-fifteen. With Hodson’s help, Jack put down his bed, and, not caring to join in the skylarking which was going on, about nine o’clock got quietly into bed. Some time before ten, Napper, looking very red in the face and walking a trifle unsteadily, came in. He looked round crossly. ‘All in?’ he asked. ‘Yes, Napper.’ ‘Then chuck this fooling and turn in, or--hic--you’ll get something.’ He sat on his bed and took off his cap. ‘Callon, Callon, where are you?’ he cried. ‘Here,’ replied that youth. ‘Come here. How many more times shall I tell you you’re to be here when I come in? Get off my boots.’ Trumpeter Gallon came and knelt down by Napper, tugging at the studs which fastened the straps of his overalls down under his boots. ‘Now, then, you young bungler, look sharp; we’ll have lights out in a minute.’ Callon made an effort, undid the stud, and managed to tug off the Wellington boot. He was engaged on the other, Napper holding out his leg, when the boy caught hold of the toe of the boot to pull it off.