The Paymaster made no difficulty about placing me in the 3rd squadron, while Walter was drafted into the 2nd, having a letter of introduction to one of the officers of that squadron. We each received a paper from the Paymaster's clerk with instructions to hand them over to our respective Sergeant-majors; the clerk kindly added that we need not return to barracks before 11 A.M., as the Sergeants were eating their breakfast. When I returned to the barracks I went to the Sergeant of the Guard and told him that I was back from the Paymaster's office, asking him to direct me to my Sergeant-major's office. "Do you take me for a sign-post?" he answered. "No, sir," I replied, "but I wanted your leave before asking a trooper to show me the way." "You long-nosed chap, you're a soldier now, remember that; so do me the honour of calling me 'Sergeant,' and not 'sir.'" "Yes, Sergeant," I replied. He then ordered a trooper who stood in the guard-room to take me to the office of my Sergeant-major. "By the way," he said, as I was going off, "what squadron do you belong to?" "To the 3rd squadron, Sergeant." "It's a pity you don't belong to mine," he answered: "I should like to have had you under my orders; it would have been a real pleasure to lick you into shape. But God help you if you ever cross my path. I don't like your face. When I don't like a man's face it's a poor chance he stands with me. Now go, clear out of this." I'm sorry to say that it was my misfortune to have this man later on as my chief, and he duly proved that his boast was no vain one. When I reached the Sergeant-major's office I met outside the door my friend de Lanoy, and informed him that I had managed to be placed in his squadron. "I'm glad of it," he said: "I will go with you to see the Sergeant-major, and try to get you put in my _peloton_" (company).