“What the deuce…?” “This is more like a ’alf-dollar job, Sir,” he groaned, waving the paper, “wot wiv’ the haddress an’ all.” “Oh—er—yes, bit thick for a bob, perhaps; here’s half a sov….” “_That’s_ more like ‘_’Eres to yer_,’ Mr. D——” remarked the good man—outside the door. “And don’t yer werry about trifles o’ chainge. Be a gent!” Lucille read and re-read the telegram in many ways. “Can do so. Cheer up. Writing his adjutant. Pal of mine coming over Saturday. If get leave going Shorncliffe if necessary leave due Dam. All right will blow over thanks.” No, _that_ wouldn’t do. (What a pity people _would_ not remember when writing telegrams that the stops and capitals they put are ignored by the operators.) At last, the wish being father to the thought, she decided it to be “Can do” (she knew that to be a navy expression). “So cheer up. Writing. His adjutant a pal of mine. Coming over Saturday if I get leave. Going Shorncliffe if necessary. Leave due. Dam all right. Will blow over. Thanks for letting me help.” Which was not far wrong. Dear old Ormonde! She knew he would not fail her—although he had been terribly cut up by her rejection of his suit and by his belief that Dam had let him haunt her in the knowledge that she was his own private property, secured to him. Having dispatched his telegram and interviewed his Adjutant, Captain, and Colonel, Mr. Delorme sat him down and wrote to Lieutenant the Honourable Reginald Montague Despencer, Adjutant of the Queen’s Greys:— “MY DEAR MONTY, “At the Rag. the other day, respectfully dining with my respected parent, I encountered, respectfully dining with his respected parent, your embryo Strawberry Leaf, old ‘Punch Peerson’. (Do you remember his standing on his head on the engine at Blackwater Station when he was too ‘merry’ to be able to stand steady on his feet?) I learnt that he is still with you and I want him to do something for me. He’ll be serious about it if _you_ speak to him about it—and I am writing to him direct. I’m going to send you a letter (under my cover), and on it will be one word ‘Dam’ (on the envelope, of course). I want you to give this to Punch and order him to show it privately to the _gentlemen-rankers_ of the corps till one says he recognizes the force of the word (pretty forceful, too, what!) and the writing. To this chap he is to give it. Be good to your poor ‘rankers,’ Monty, I know one damned hard case among them. No fault of _his_, poor chap. I could say a lot—surprise you—but I mustn’t. It’s awfully good of you, old chap. I know you’ll see it through. It concerns as fine a gentleman as ever stepped and _the_ finest woman! “Ever thine, “O. DELORME.” “Look here, my lambs—or rather, Black Sheep,” quoth Trooper Punch Peerson one tea-time to Troopers Bear, Little, Goate, Nemo, Burke, Jones, and Matthewson, “I suppose none of you answers to the name of ‘_Dam_’?” No man answered, and Trooper Peerson looked at the face of no man, nor any one at any other.