‘Mr Geoffrey Standing Blount, Wilkins,’ said the General with dignity. The smile flickering into Wilkins’ eye flickered out again, and he turned to the visitors’ book. The General led the way to the lavatory past a group of younger men in the hall, who greeted him with respectful if amused recognition. Tally Ho, smiling affably, followed him. Arrived at the lavatory, he looked with a pleased anticipation at the row of basins, for though of tender years, soap and water were after his heart. He was feeling hot and dusty, the taps ran so nicely, and--that was all, alas!--impossible to reach those basins, those nicely flowing taps--so he stood in the middle and waited while the General washed, politely silent, but feeling his inches, or want of inches, keenly. At last he said, ‘My’s nickle, but my’s growin’!’ An apology for his host’s want of thought was in the last words. ‘Gawd bless me--boy’s too small--can’t reach--never thought of that--dear, dear!’ He tugged at his moustache in great concern. ‘Hi! you boot-boy,’ he shouted, ‘bring a chair, two chairs, help the gentleman up, hi! you fool, hold the slack of the gentleman’s trousers, can’t you, while he washes;’ for Tally Ho in a transport of joy was taking a header into the basin. The remainder of his toilet was carefully attended to by the boot-boy, under the General’s anxious supervision. When it was completed, and Tally Ho was once more presentable, they ascended to the dining-room--Tally Ho for once on his two feet, and conducting himself with a vast propriety. It was a little after the ordinary luncheon hour when the General finally anchored his guest, contrary to all laws and precedents, in the club dining-room. An old crony of his was finishing his lunch in one of the windows; next to him the General, greatly in want of support, took his stand, and having caused his guest to be lifted into his seat, abstractedly handed him a menu card. Tally Ho perused it gravely after the manner of a man accustomed to these things, and handing it to the waiter, remarked: ‘My will have cully and lice,’--he paused, debating gravely, ‘and plummers,’ he added, with a note of triumph in his voice. The General twirled his moustache. ‘Curry and rice for this gentleman, plums afterwards--fried sole for me. Boy of decision,’ he continued, approvingly to himself. ‘Knows his own mind.’ He looked at the card. ‘Gawd bless me! not on the menu, either of them--’course, can’t read--how should he?--never mind, finer fellow than I thought--man of resource.’ He turned to the crony. ‘How do, ’Morant?’ he said--‘married man, just the man I want--stand by to support me, heh?’ He nodded imperceptibly in the direction of Tally Ho. ‘Certainly, my dear fellow,’ said the intelligent crony, ‘make me known.’ ‘Colonel Morant--Mr Geoffrey Standing Blount.’