‘Dod bless her!’ said Tally Ho, raising his hat abstractedly, for his attention had wandered to the stick with the skull handle in the General’s hand. ‘Velly plitty ‘tick,’ he murmured to himself, ‘my will walkle wid ’oo, if ’oos not tired,’ he added aloud considerately to the stranger. ‘Gawd bless me!’ said the dumfoundered General. ‘He’d take command of a division for two pins! Gentleman though--Indian--know the breed. Wonder who he is--seems lost--never mind, take him along--pump him--no fool. Come along Mr--Tally Ho, Sir; eyes front, quick march.’ Tally Ho made one manful endeavour to compass the General’s stride, and then relapsed philosophically into a regular two for one. He had quite forgotten the ducks, he wanted that stick so badly to carry over his shoulder like a rifle. After completing the length of the bridge, side by side with the General, and cogitating silently, Tally Ho saluted, and said: ‘_Ettafakhan_ de Genelal Sahib finds de ’tick velly heavy.’ ‘Gawd bless me! Persian! Very talented boy, great diplomatist--_Ettafakhan_,’ he continued aloud to Tally Ho (the which is the Persian for ‘peradventure’), and without another word transferred the stick to his small and grubby fist. The latter, too well bred to show the transports of joy swelling in his small bosom, halted, salaamed profoundly, and after hugging the stick, which was at least as tall as himself, heaved it over his shoulder, and marched manfully on. The General was an old man; he stooped slightly and walked slowly, and his eyes, that looked like those of an old dog, gazed curiously ever and anon from under his shaggy eyebrows at the small brown urchin tramping at his side. They reached the gates of the park before he had in the least made up his mind what course to pursue with this strange little mortal. As they were crossing the Mall towards St James’s Palace, a new idea struck Tally Ho; he halted suddenly, stuck the stick into the ground, and leaning on it, looked around him with a self-satisfied air. ‘My’s losted,’ he announced. The General, in rapt amazement at the calmness of this remark, halted also, and a hansom, sweeping by, nearly ran over his toes, and knocked off Tally Ho’s hat with the edge of its wheel. ‘Damned scoundrels!’ muttered the exasperated warrior below his breath, ‘plucky boy, though--near thing.... All right, heh?’--this to Tally Ho, who was contemplating a large splash of mud on the crown of his hat. ‘My’s noo ’at!’ he said, ruefully. ‘Never mind your hat s’long’s _you’re_ all right, heh? That’s it! Come along.’ A bright idea struck him. ‘Are you hungry? Course he is, all boys hungry. Gawd bless me! what was I thinking of? Come and have some tiffin at my club, Mr--Tally Ho, sir.’ ‘Tank’oo, my will be _dee_lighted, my’s _velly_ empty,’ said Tally Ho, frankly and cheerfully. ‘Course you are. Come along, sir, come along.’