"It was very kind of you," he said, "and I am sure it is an excellent fit. See if you can't find a sovereign among that change on the table." As he rode through the great gates, Hemming caught sight of Miss Tetson along the road. At sound of his horse's hoofs, she turned in her saddle and waved her hand. He touched his little white stallion into that renowned sliding run that had made it famous in Pernambuco. They rode together for over an hour. Hicks did not turn out that morning. Mr. Valentine Hicks was young, and an American. Though he had been born in Boston, he lacked something in breeding,--a very shadowy something that would correct itself as life took him in hand. Though he had been an undergraduate of Harvard University for two years, he displayed to Hemming's mind a childish ignorance of men and books. No doubt he had practised the arts of drop-kicking and tackling with distinction, for he was big and well muscled. He was distantly connected with the Tetsons, and had joined them in Pernamba soon after their arrival in the country, and two years previous to the opening of this narrative, to act as Tetson's private secretary. At first Mr. Hicks looked with suspicion upon the wandering Englishman. He was in an unsettled frame of mind at the time, poor fellow. He saw in Hemming a dangerous rival to his own monopoly of Miss Tetson. Already the lady was talking about some sort of book the duffer had written. A few days after Hemming's arrival, the army, to the number of four hundred rank and file and twenty-six officers, was drawn up for the President's inspection. Hemming rode with Tetson, and the little brown soldiers wondered at the frosty glitter of his eye-glass. His mount was the same upon which he had entered the country,--a white, native-bred stallion, the gift of one McPhey, a merchant in Pernambuco. Miss Tetson and Hicks, each followed by a groom, trotted aimlessly about the waiting ranks, much to Hemming's disgust. Tetson lit the inevitable yellow weed. "What do you think of them?" he asked, waving his hand toward the troops. "They look to me as if they were stuffed with bran," answered the Englishman, "and their formation is all wrong." "Ah," said Tetson, sadly crestfallen. Presently he touched Hemming's knee. "If you will take them in hand,--the whole lopsided consignment, from the muddy-faced colonel down,--why, I'll be your everlasting friend," he said. Hemming stared at them, pondering. "It will mean enemies for me," he replied. "No, I can answer for everything but their drill," said the other. Hemming saluted, and, wheeling the white stallion, rode alone up and down the uneven ranks. His face was set in severe lines, but behind the mask lurked mirth and derision at the pettiness of his high-styled office. "Commander-in-chief," he said, and, putting his mount to a canter, completely circled his command in a fraction of a minute.