Jack rose stiffly and saluted; then, accompanied by one of the aides-de-camp, he walked off to the quarters of his battalion. The officers had all gone to bed. Learning from Jack the name of his servant, the aide-de-camp roused the servants’ quarters, and, just as the church clock was striking three, Jack was put to bed in a cosy little room on the ground floor of the house by his man Giles Ogbourne. "What I want to know is, when are we agoing to have a slap at the French? Here we’ve been tramping and camping for two months or more, and nothing to show for it—not a shot fired. And you call that sojering!" The words and the grunt that followed came on Jack’s ears as it were out of a mist, along with the pungent fumes of strong tobacco. He had just awoke from a heavy sleep; the window of his room was open, and he could see the deep-blue sky of a fine December day. "My friend Corporal Wilkes holding forth!" he said to himself with a smile, and, turning on his back, he listened for more. "What are we here for?" went on the grumbler. "What’s the good of cleaning your rifle day after day when it’s had no chance of getting fouled? It’s nothing but walking, walking, walking; ’ang me if we ain’t out on a bloomin’ walking-match." "There’s been a bit of a scrum somewhere for’ard, so I heard," put in another voice. "P’raps things is waking up, corp’ril." "Shut up, Bates! What’s the good o’ that to us? It was those long-legged dragoons, by all accounts. Why should they have it all? Where does the 95th come in?—that’s what I want to know. What’s the good o’ pickin’ out the Rifles from the whole army and then giving them cavalry chaps the only job that’s going? Besides, nothing’ll come of it. We shall only have a longer walk than ever, you see. A flick in the ear to the French, so to say, and then we skedaddles!" "That ain’t fair, corp’ril. Who says we’re a-going to sheer off?" "Nobody _says_ we’re going to sheer off, but anyone with half an eye could see those blessed grub-carts over there cutting up the roads this morning, and anyone with an ounce of gumption would know what that means. That ain’t the road to Valladolid! What I want to know is, do the general mean to fight, or don’t he? If he do, let’s step off on shanks his mare and get to business; if he don’t—why, he’s only spoiling good sojers, that’s all I’ve got to say." "Not so much noise, corp’ril," said Giles Ogbourne; "you’ll wake Mr. Lumsden." "Spoil his beauty sleep, eh? Where’s he been, getting so dead tired that he ain’t up to take his rations? I don’t hold with such late hours. Not but what he’s a good plucked ’un mostly, and I don’t grudge him the—" At this point Jack got out of bed, wincing as his aching muscles reminded him of the previous day’s hard work. "You there, Giles?" he said, putting his head out of the window. "Get me some hot water, and then see about my breakfast while I dress."