|When Hugh got back to his quarters the first thing he did was to hunt up his great friend Jack Pomfret. He found that young gentleman stretched in front of a blazing fire--ft was a very chilly March--and smoking a cigar nearly as big as himself. Jack Pomfret, it may be said, was quite a small man, of about the size and weight that would be associated with the coxswain of a 'Varsity boat. Next to Murchison, perhaps Pomfret was the most popular man in the regiment. He was certainly the poorest, for although he came of an aristocratic family, the said family had very little to bless themselves with. If it had been left to his immediate relatives, Jack would have had to enter a line regiment, and subsist on his pay, supplemented by more or less regular small remittances from his hard-up father. But fortune had smiled on Jack when he was in his cradle. A rich great-aunt had been his godmother, and from the date of his christening had taken him under her wing. She had been crossed in love when quite a girl, would never marry. Jack Pomfret had a handsome, but not an extravagant, allowance now, and he would come into his great-aunt's fortune when she died. Jack always complained that his aunt was a bit thrifty, and did not fully understand the imperative necessities of a young subaltern in an expensive regiment like the Twenty-fifth. As a matter of fact, Miss Harding, his mother's youngest sister, suffered from acute indigestion, existed principally on soda-water and biscuits, lived in a comparatively small house with one manservant and two maids, and saved a great deal every year out of a large income. She loved Jack very much, but she had little or no sympathy with the follies and indiscretions of youth. She had a hazy sort of idea that an officer should live within his pay, as she lived well within her income. Needless to say that Jack had long disabused her of this silly idea. "Great tidings, old man," cried Murchison, breaking in upon the meditative little man, blowing great clouds of smoke. "I'll give you six guesses." "Not in a guessing mood," returned Jack shortly. "All my brain-power is used up. I am trying to concoct a letter to the dear old aunt--God bless her, she is one of the best!--insinuating gently that a cheque for a couple of hundred would be very convenient at the present moment." Murchison took a seat. "Silly old ass," he said in a kindly tone, "if you want a couple of hundred have it from me, and don't worry about the aunt. You can pay me when she stumps-up. From what you have told me about your respected relative, it might be a lengthy business. I suppose you will plead debts. She might offer to discharge them, and ask the names of the creditors. In that case, old chap, you wouldn't handle much personally, would you?" Pomfret laughed genially. He was always very hard-up, but he was never depressed for very long. There was always a silver lining to every cloud.