"Hey! What? Are you going to argue with me?" said the Colonel. "No, Sir," said Lew. "But if a man come to you, Sir, and said he was going to report you, Sir, for 'aving a bit of a turn-up with a friend, Sir, an' wanted to get money out o' _you_, Sir"-- The Orderly-room exploded in a roar of laughter. "Well?" said the Colonel. "That was what that measly _jarnwar_ there did, Sir, and 'e'd 'a' _done_ it, Sir, if we 'adn't prevented 'im. We didn't 'it 'im much, Sir. 'E 'adn't no manner o' right to interfere with us, Sir. I don't mind bein' flogged by the Drum-Major, Sir, nor yet reported by _any_ Corp'ral, but I'm--but I don't think it's fair, Sir, for a civilian to come an' talk over a man in the Army." A second shout of laughter shook the Orderly-room, but the Colonel was grave. "What sort of characters have these boys?" he asked of the Regimental Sergeant-Major. "Accordin' to the Bandmaster, Sir," returned that revered official--the only soul in the regiment whom the boys feared--"they do everything _but_ lie, Sir." "Is it like we'd go for that man for fun, Sir?" said Lew, pointing to the plaintiff. "Oh, admonished,--admonished!" said the Colonel, testily, and when the boys had gone he read the Bazar-Sergeant's son a lecture on the sin of unprofitable meddling, and gave orders that the Bandmaster should keep the Drums in better discipline. "If either of you come to practice again with so much as a scratch on your two ugly little faces," thundered the Bandmaster, "I'll tell the Drum-Major to take the skin off your backs. Understand that, you young devils." Then he repented of his speech for just the length of time that Lew, looking like a Seraph in red worsted embellishments, took the place of one of the trumpets--in hospital--and rendered the echo of a battle-piece. Lew certainly was a musician, and had often in his more exalted moments expressed a yearning to master every instrument of the Band. "There's nothing to prevent your becoming a Bandmaster, Lew," said the Bandmaster, who had composed waltzes of his own, and worked day and night in the interests of the Band. "What did he say?" demanded Jakin, after practice. "'Said I might be a bloomin' Bandmaster, an' be asked in to 'ave a glass o' sherry-wine on Mess-nights." "Ho! 'Said you might be a bloomin' non-combatant, did 'e! That's just about wot 'e would say. When I've put in my boy's service--it's a bloomin' shame that doesn't count for pension--I'll take on a privit. Then I'll be a Lance in a year--knowin' what I know about the ins an' outs o' things. In three years I'll be a bloomin' Sergeant. I won't marry then, not I! I'll 'old on and learn the orf'cers' ways an' apply for exchange into a reg'ment that doesn't know all about me. Then I'll be a bloomin' orf'cer. Then I'll ask you to 'ave a glass o' sherry-wine, _Mister_ Lew, an' you'll bloomin' well 'ave to stay in the hanty-room while the Mess-Sergeant brings it to your dirty 'ands."