Jack, being a big boy for his age, was drilled with his squad both in the lance and sword exercise, for the colonel of the Lancers was a man who insisted upon his trumpeters being soldiers as well. With Sergeant Linham he seemed to be quite a favourite. The sergeant was a first-class soldier, one of those in whom discipline is second nature, and whose whole knowledge of life is limited to the service. Jack was once speaking of him to Sergeant Barrymore. ‘He is a queer fish, is Jimmy,’ said Barrymore; ‘but a truer comrade never lived, and he’s a great friend of the colonel’s too!’ ‘Is he really?’ said Jack, opening his eyes. ‘He is, indeed. I’ll guarantee there’s not a man in the regiment, including the officers, that the colonel thinks as much of, or is really so fond of, as he is of Jimmy Linham.’ Jack looked as though he thought Barrymore was chaffing him. ‘It’s a fact, I can assure you,’ said Barrymore. ‘How otherwise do you think Jimmy got his stripes? Not for his trumpeting qualities, for, as you know, he’s a poor hand at that. No, my boy, Jimmy Linham wears those stripes because he’s a friend of the colonel’s. They were together in the 16th, our colonel as a young cornet and Linham as trumpeter. They had some terrible experiences in Afghanistan together, and both suffered losses. They went together through the Sikh war of ‘40, and took part in some of the fiercest fights. I never heard the exact rights of it, but I know Jimmy and the colonel have some sort of a common bond of sympathy that binds them together. The colonel brought Linham with him when he came to ours, and he made him sergeant, and sergeant he’ll remain as long as the colonel is with us.’ Time went on, and Jack, being really fond of his work, and having a natural aptitude for soldiering, made splendid progress. At the end of about three months the trumpet-major came down one morning to the practice, and calling Jack out in front of his squad, made him sound thirty or forty calls, both on trumpet and bugle. Jack did his best and felt he had fairly well acquitted himself. He had worked hard during his spare time, for he was anxious to take up his regular duties. In the evening, while he was engaged on what is termed ‘soldiering’--that is, cleaning his kit and accoutrements--Sergeant Linham, looking preternaturally solemn, entered the room with the suddenness that characterised his movements. ‘Ha, hum!’ he snorted, ‘Acting-trumpeter Blair.’ ‘Here, sergeant.’ ‘The trumpet-major wants to see you at once, and, ha, hum! see that you go smart and clean.’ ‘Right, sergeant,’ and Jack slipped into his jacket and adjusted his forage-cap to the required angle, while Hodson ran a cloth-brush over him. ‘What do you think’s up, Will?’ he asked a little nervously.