Jerry peered round a little into the lieutenant's face, to see if he were trying to make a joke; but Lacey looked serious enough, and the man went on, confidentially-- "Fact is, sir, I'm a bit upset." "Look sharp and get right again. Don't you say you're too poorly to wait on us to-night!" "Oh, dear, no, sir! I shall attend upon you; but, the fact is, I'm in trouble." "Humph! And you want an advance upon your wages. How much?" "No, sir," said Jerry, irritably, as he drove the bristles of one brush among the bristles of the other; "it's not that sort of trouble. It's about someone." "Lady! Why, Brigley, you're not thinking of getting married?" "Oh, no, sir! it's about--about a gent--I mean a man, sir. It's him as you know, sir--Smithson." "Dick Smithson!" cried the lieutenant. "What's the matter with him?" "He ain't been the same, sir, since the night of the ball. He has worried me a deal." "Yes, he seems a good deal pulled down, poor fellow! But is he ill again?" "No, sir; he went out yesterday--had a pass--and--" "And what? Don't hesitate like that, man!" "He did not come back last night." "Sorry to hear it," said the lieutenant. "Means trouble--punishment. I liked Smithson." "Yes, sir; everyone did." "Perhaps he's taken ill, and had to stay somewhere." Jerry was silent. "You don't think he has bolted?" Jerry made no answer, and the lieutenant swung round in his chair. "Why, you do," he cried, excitedly. "Do you know that bolting means desertion, sir?" "Yes, sir," said Jerry, humbly. "Then you're a fool, Brigley." "Yes, sir." "If Smithson had been a common sort of pothouse-haunting fellow, it might have been so; but Smithson was a clever musician, and too much of a gentleman to do such a thing." "Thank ye, sir." "`Thank ye!'" cried the lieutenant, irritably; "what do you mean by that?" "I mean, sir, that's what he is." "Oh, pooh! he has not deserted." "I don't know, sir," said Jerry, dubiously. "Look here, Brigley: I don't often use bad language, but if you talk like that, confound you! I shall swear at you." "I wish you would, sir," said Jerry. "What?" "I say I wish you would, sir. It would seem to do me good like, for I'm reg'larly upset about Smithson, sir." "There, I beg your pardon, Brigley. I'm sorry I spoke so roughly." "Oh, don't do that, sir. It don't matter. I don't want to think he's gone, sir, because it's 'ard--because he seemed to trust me a bit, and I don't like for him to have gone off without saying a word." "Look here: you knew him before he joined?" "Oh, yes, sir; I knew him." "You were friends?" "No, sir--not exactly friends, but I knew him." "And--There! I don't want to pump you, Brigley, but I suppose he was in quite a different station of life, and got into some trouble, which made him leave home?"