"Noo, Beefy, you’ve got tae step intae the officers’ mess for your prize-money—jist as ye are. The colonel’ll gie ye the money at the table." Unsuspecting, Beefy glibly complied, while Spud and his friends took post in the darkest corners to watch the affair. The officers were having dinner at the time, in fact they had just arrived at that part where the band plays the National Anthem, and the subaltern of the day proposes the toast of— "Gentlemen—The King!" when in burst Beefy M’Fadyen all perspiring and somewhat bruised—a perfect nightmare in his boxing attire. All the young officers burst out laughing, but the colonel roared, "Silence, gentlemen!" Then, turning to Beefy, he said—"How dare you enter the officers’ mess? What do you mean, sir?" "I waant my prize-money." "What money—you fool?" "Ma thirty bob for knockin’ oot Curly Broon." "Who sent you here?" "Spud Tamson." "Well—get out." "Nae fear—I waant ma thirty bob. You’ll no frichten me," said Beefy, sitting down on a chair. "You—you—you—insubordinate scoundrel. How—how—dare you!" shouted the old colonel, getting red at the neck. "Keep your hair on, auld cock," said Beefy. "Send for the guard, adjutant." In a few minutes an escort appeared, and Beefy, the vaunted champion, was seized and carried forcibly to the guardroom. All that was heard as he was hustled away was, "I waant ma thirty bob." Spud Tamson got fourteen days cells for this little trick, and poor Beefy received a paper stating, "You are discharged from His Majesty’s Service as unlikely to become an efficient soldier." "What dis that mean, Spud?" said Beefy, showing him the paper as he was leaving. "It jist means that _you’re_ daft." "Weel, Spud, I’m no’ sae green as I’m cabbage-lookin’. Ta-ta." And this was true, for next day nearly every man in the Glesca Mileeshy had lost his spare shirts, socks, and boots. "Jings, he’s no’ sae daft efter a’," was Spud’s final comment on the departed boxer. CHAPTER VII. A LECTURE. _It_ was Lord Wolseley, I think, who discovered that the ordinary soldier had really got brains. When this startling discovery was made, the General Staff realised that lectures were necessary, so that the headpieces of the troops might be of greater use in war. Lectures were accordingly devised, and these consisted of various military topics. Everything—from the cutting of the soldiers’ corns to the washing of army babies—was noted down. Company officers were entrusted with this important duty. Many performed the work in an interesting way, others made a hash of it. This was due to their profusion—or lack—of brain power. And of the Militia—well, the War Office did not expect too much. It was therefore interesting to listen to Captain Coronet tackling this job. "Men," he would say, "I want to talk to you about Active Service; first of all, Tamson, just explain the exact meaning of the word ’enemy.’" "The Germans," answered Spud promptly.