"Perks, sir--perkisites: old boots and shoes and things. So I 'listed six months ago, and here have I, Jeremiah Brigley, been barked at and drilled till I could stand on my head stiff and go through it all." "Yes, you would have to be drilled," said Dick, thoughtfully; "and how do you get on as his servant?" "Get on, sir? As his servant, sir? Why, he on'y laughed at me, and told me he'd got somebody else; and when I turned rusty, and told him he was no gent, he reported me and had me punished. But I wasn't done, then; for, as soon as I was out, I waits my chance, and then I says to him, `You look out,' I says, `and mind I don't make it warm for you.'" "What do you mean?" "Why, go and tell his colonel, sir, all about his borrowing of old Simpson, the tailor, and throwing the credit about that there cheque on to you. For it was a reg'lar swindle, sir; you didn't get none of that money, as I know. Ah, you should have seen how small he was then! Why, he was quite humble to me, and said it was all a mistake, and, as soon as he could, he'd get me for his servant. But he won't, and a good job for him and me, too, S'Richard, sir." "Silence, man!" "I beg pardon, sir. O' course, that's wrong now; but I tell you this, sir: he's made me that wild again with myself, and now about you, sir, that, if I had to cut his hair or strop a razor to shave him, I should chuck the tools out o' window. I daren't go nigh him with such a weppun in my hand." "Rubbish, Jerry! You're absurd!" cried Dick, shaking off the thoughts which troubled him as he determined to go to the colonel or Mr Lacey and explain all. "No, sir, it ain't absurd. Flesh and blood 'll stand a deal, but there comes a time when it won't stand no more. Sir Mark Frayne's one o' they--Here! hold up, sir; it's your turn now." For Dick had started to his feet. "What?" he cried, huskily. "Say that again." "What--about Sir Mark, sir?" "Sir Mark?" "Oh, yes, sir; you was dead and buried, his father died, and he became Sir Mark. Yes, sir, he's a barrownet now, and got all your tin; and, my word, he does make it fly!" CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. JERRY TO THE FRONT. Dick Smithson found himself face to face with a problem that grew harder to solve the more he tried, and, as he lay awake at night, the words of the old, old ballad used to come to him:-- "And for as you have made your bed, so on it you must lie." A barrack bed, too--a very hard, thin, single Glo'ster-cheese sort of bed! And yet it seemed at the first sight so easy to jump out of it, go and see the colonel--no; he could talk to Lieutenant Lacey, who was always so friendly, and that gentleman would tell the colonel.