He came up quickly. The presence of the man in khaki steadied the crowd and stopped the chatter. "Best get out of this, 'm," he suggested. "They look a bit funny." He took the pony's head and turned him. "You get up alongside me then," said Mrs. Lewknor. He obeyed. The crowd made way. The pock-marked man began again to beat his donkey. The procession resumed its march. "One up for the Hammer-men!" the little lady laughed, as they emerged from the gate of the native city. "Yes, 'm," said Ernie. "Only one thing. The native city's out of bounds for me." Mrs. Lewknor smiled. "I'm not one of the Military Police," she said.... That evening she put to her husband a question that had often puzzled her. "Why doesn't Caspar get on?" she asked. "He's got twice the intelligence of men who go over his head." "My dear," replied the Major with the sententiousness that grew on him with the greying years, "intelligence is the last thing we want in the ranks of the Army. Intelligence always leads to indiscipline. The Army wants in the lower ranks only one thing--what is called 'character.' And by character it means the quality of the bull who rammed his head against a brick-wall till he was unconscious and went at it again when he came round saying--_My head is bloody but unbowed_." During Ernie's years of service the Battalion moved slowly North, exchanging the plains of the Central Provinces for the frosty nights and red sand-hills of the Punjauh. Major Lewknor became Colonel; and Mr. Royal adjutant. Ern and the new Colonel were curiously sympathetic; Ern and the adjutant the reverse. It may be that the Colonel, unusual himself, and lonely because of it, recognized a kindred spirit in the man; it may be that he never forgot that Ern was the son of his old contemporary Hathri Caspar of Trinity; or perhaps Mrs. Lewknor played an unconscious part in the matter. It is certain that on the one occasion Ern was brought before him in the Orderly Room for a momentary lapse into his old weakness, the Colonel merely "admonished" the offender. Captain Royal, a ruthless disciplinarian, was aggrieved. "He's such a rotten slack soldier, sir," he complained, after the culprit, congratulating himself upon his escape, had disappeared. "Isn't he?" said the Colonel, enjoying to the full the irritation of his subordinate. "That man'd be no earthly good except on service." Even at the wicket indeed Ernie was only at his best when he had to try. A first-rate natural bat, he would have been left out of the regimental team for slackness but that, as the Sergeant-Major said, "Caspar's always there when you want him most." In fact, Ernie ended his career in the Army with something of a flourish. The Regiment was playing the Rifle Brigade at Rawlpindi in the last round for the Holkar Cup. Half-way through the second day, when the Hammer-men were batting, a rot set in. There were still two hours to play when the last man went in.