"But the officers won't be able to help laughing. He must have looked like a periwinkle stuck in his shell. Go and tell him you're very sorry, and shake hands." "Ah! you don't understand our ways here, Brigley. He wouldn't take the apology. He don't like me going there to practice, because it was all through young Smithson, for he hates him like poison." "Yes, or he wouldn't have said what he did," cried Jerry. "It was too bad." "Yes, too bad," said the sergeant, "when the poor lad didn't even take his own instruments away with him." "Didn't he?" cried Jerry, rather excitedly. "What, not them big and little silver-keyed flutes?" "No; they've got them up in his quarters, keeping them for him. Some of the men are precious wild about what Wilkins said." Jerry made no reply, but stood rubbing one side of his nose with his finger. "Well, why don't you speak?" said the sergeant. "Because I was thinking," said Jerry; "and a man can't think of one thing and talk of another at the same time." "What were you thinking, then?" "I was thinking it seemed strange for him to leave those flutes behind. They was his own, and he set a deal of store by them." "Well, what do you make of it, now you have thought it?" "What do you?" replied Jerry. "That it looks as if he meant to come back." "Yes," said Jerry, mysteriously; "it do look like that. Are they trying to find him?" "Of course, they are trying their best. They won't stop till they have." "But ain't it making a deal o' fuss about one chap, and him not a reg'lar fighting man?" "'Tisn't that," said the sergeant; "it's the principle of the thing. They wouldn't care about losing one man or a dozen; it's keeping up the discipline. Young Smithson 'll be caught, and he'll be pretty severely punished, poor lad. I rather liked Smithson." "Liked him!" said Jerry, acidly; "why, of course, you did. Why, I like him--even me, who don't make many friends--I can tell you. You think, then, they might ketch him?" "I do," said the sergeant, "sooner or later. They're sure to. Well, I must be off. I've got my own troubles to think about without his." "Good-bye, sergeant," said Jerry, with a friendly nod, and Brumpton went on, while Jerry's whole expression changed. His eyes glittered, the colour came in his face, and he thrust his hands in his pockets as far down as he could get them. "He wouldn't have gone off without telling me, pore chap! I'm sure of it. It was master and man between us, and full confidence, as you may say. He wouldn't desert--he's too much the gentleman--and he wouldn't go to see lawyers without speaking first. As to his going away, that settles it. He wouldn't leave them flutes if he were making a bolt. Why, he didn't when he ran away before. That settles it, and no mistake. Jerry Brigley, my lad, there's something wrong." What was to be done?