"No need for that," exclaimed the Major. "The Chief will give him a commission in the Indian army straight away when I’ve had a talk with him." "Will that suit you, Bob?" "I couldn’t wish for anything more splendid," said Bob, flushing with pleasure. "That’s settled then. And you, Lawrence?" "The same for him, of course," said the Major. "It’s uncommonly good of you," said Lawrence, "but--well, I’m not cut out for a soldier." "Rubbish, sir. I wish all my subalterns were like you." "What’s your notion then?" asked Mr. Appleton. "Well, Uncle, I was going to Oxford, you know, but I’m afraid I shall be too old for a scholarship next year, and--and it would cost too much without." Lawrence spoke awkwardly, colouring to the roots of his hair. "You could manage on £400 a year, I suppose?" said Mr. Appleton, dryly. "Much less, Uncle. I know a chap who did jolly well on £200, and saved." "What will you do when you come down? Take a clerkship at thirty shillings a week, or teach little ruffians good cricket and bad Latin on forty?" "I thought of trying for the Indian Civil, Uncle. I should like it immensely after being out here." "Stiff exam, isn’t it?" "I can swat, sir." "I believe you can! Well, I’m going to settle my silver money on Bob and you." [Here there was what the reporters call a "sensation."] "It should bring in £1500 a year even in the safest security. You shall have £400 each until you’re twenty-five; after that you’ll share the whole lot equally between you. Think I’m mad, Major?" "I wish you’d bite an old uncle of mine," said the Major with a laugh. "I congratulate you young fellows; you deserve it all." The boys were overwhelmed with their good luck, and their uncle’s generosity. They stammered out their thanks; then, desiring to talk things over quietly between themselves, they got up and went out. They strolled up and down the compound, looking with the mind’s eye into the vista opening so brightly before them, discussing plans with youthful eagerness and optimism, voting their uncle a "trump," a "brick," a "ripping old boy," and employing the hundred and one meaningless phrases with which Englishmen are wont to dissemble their feelings. It is only the bare truth to say that their deepest satisfaction and thankfulness sprang from reunion with their uncle. Presently Bob noticed, in the gloom, Ditta Lal pacing slowly along by the cliff wall. "Hallo, Babu!" he called. "Come here. I want to speak to you." The Bengali drew near, and as he came within the candlelight beaming through the open doorway of the shed, they noticed that he wore a very dejected look. "I want to thank you," continued Bob. "Chunda Beg told me that while the fight was going on you were heaping up that rampart yonder. It was well thought of; we’re indebted to you." The Babu’s face lit up for a moment as he bowed his acknowledgments; but it instantly clouded over again.