Aside from the fact that he was still an uncommissioned volunteer, Hugh’s only quarrel with his busy life that winter was that he saw little of Dick Strangwayes. His friend’s chamber and purse were at his disposal, but his time Strangwayes himself was not master of; not only did his duties in the troop require him, but he had in the city and in the colleges many friends to whom he gave much of himself. Hugh valued the more the moments he had with his comrade at their chamber, and, for the rest, sought himself companionship where he could. Frank, too, had associates of his own, for whom Hugh had no great affection, so as a last choice he resorted to George Allestree, who showed his friendship by introducing him to all the taverns and ordinaries in the city. It was Allestree, too, who, when he found Hugh took in great seriousness his intention of becoming a soldier, unearthed a fat book, “The Soldier’s Grammar and Accidence,” by one Gervase Markham, and told the boy he would get from that all the theory of war he wanted. “I’ll read it speedily and return it to you, George,” Hugh said gratefully. “Prithee, don’t hurry yourself,” Allestree answered quickly. “Ten years hence is quite soon enough for my needs.” Indeed, Hugh did not find Gervase Markham exciting reading, but, to the silent enjoyment of Strangwayes, he dutifully labored through his pages. He was hard at work on Markham one morning, with his chin on one fist and his elbow on the table. Only his eyes were not on the book, but ranging out at the casement, for it was in early February and the sky was blue, and Hugh was thinking how the buds would be bursting soon on the beeches in the park at Everscombe. “Did you note the Worcestershire parson who sat at our table last night?” suddenly spoke Strangwayes, who was shaving at the little mirror between the windows. “Frank said he was an old tutor whom Sir William held in much respect,” Hugh answered, bringing his gaze back to the room.