“Is it really?” said I. “I should never have thought it, for he looks too young for a colonel.” “You have put your foot into it, evidently,” replied the officer, who appeared highly amused at what had happened. His name, he told me, was Corbet Stapleton-Cotton, and he was a lieutenant of some years’ service. I had a room in barracks close to Cotton’s, and, after my things had been unpacked, I dressed for mess. During mess I again exchanged a few words with the Colonel, who evidently looked upon me as an intruder, since he addressed me in a very distant manner. I was introduced to the acting adjutant, E. O. H. Wilkinson (the adjutant, Lieutenant Bagot, had been suspended from that post by the Colonel), whom I had known at Eton, but had never cared for much. Wilkinson, who was a tall, dark man, with a slight squint, a long body and very short legs, imparted to me the pleasing information that I should have to begin my drill all over again from the commencement, at seven o’clock the following morning, so that I was likely to be kept well employed for some little time to come. I also made the acquaintance of my captain, Cramer, who was a middle-aged man with grey hair. He had little to say for himself, and was not remarkable for his amiability, but was very musical, and played the piano wonderfully well, though entirely by ear. Amongst other officers with whom I spoke that evening were a sub-lieutenant named Robert Gunning and a lieutenant called Allfrey. Gunning, who, like Cramer, in whose company he was, had been at Eton with me, though I had only known him very slightly there, was a rather good-looking little fellow, and a great favourite of the Colonel, who called him “Cupid,” and often invited him to his quarters. Allfrey was a tall, burly man, with dark curly hair, who was very loud in both his dress and conversation, which was usually about horses. He was a great admirer of Thackeray’s works, and declared that “Vanity Fair” was the best novel in the English language, and that he had read it over and over again without growing tired of it. Allfrey was a particular friend of Cotton, and I soon discovered that these two officers were the _bêtes-noires_ of the Colonel, who, it was said, could not even endure the sound of their voices, and would give anything in the world to get rid of them both. Our chief’s dislike, however, was by no means confined to Cotton and Allfrey. Two senior lieutenants, named Holled-Smith and Allen, and a captain called Robinson, had also the misfortune to be objects of his antipathy, a fact which he was never at any pains to disguise.