d.i.c.k bowed.

"Yes; one can confide in you, Smithson. You remember--er--er--a little adventure of ours--the serenade?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"I hardly care to refer to it, Smithson; but, as I think I said before, I always feel as if I can trust you."

d.i.c.k bowed again, and felt disposed to laugh; but his face was extra-serious as the lieutenant went on--

"The fact is, we made a great mistake, Smithson, and that duet was played under the wrong window. There is an aunt there--and--and--she is not young."

"I presumed so, sir, from the voice," said d.i.c.k, for the young officer waited.

"There is no presumption about it, Smithson; you were quite right. She is still single. Miss--well--er--since then--er--we have met."

"You and the aunt, sir?"

"Smithson, this is no matter for ribald jest," said the lieutenant, sharply.

"I beg pardon, sir; I meant to be quite serious."

"I thank you, Smithson. You will grasp what I mean when you grow older.

You may come to feel as I have felt for months past."

"I hope not!" thought d.i.c.k.

"I will continue, Smithson. We have met since, more than once; and yesterday I sent that idiot with a note."

"And he gave it to the wrong person, sir?"

"What! You have heard?"

"Oh, no, sir; but it is what I should have expected him to do."

"You are quite right; and I ought to have known better. He took the letter, and delivered it to the aunt. Smithson, I am in agony! She has responded to me, thinking my words were meant for her. I walked by there an hour ago and saw her, and--oh, Smithson!--she smiled. What is to be done?"

d.i.c.k was silent for a minute, not knowing how to answer the question; then a way out of the difficulty came.

"I'll tell you, sir! You must discharge that fellow."

"I did, Smithson--at once. I was in such a rage that I kicked him; and I fear that there will be some trouble about that, if he reports it to his superior officer."

"Pooh! Give him half a sovereign, sir, and you'll hear no more about it."

"That's very good advice, Smithson. I wish I had your head."

"You want a good, clever, smart servant, sir," said d.i.c.k, who was breathless with excitement consequent upon his new idea.

"Yes, Smithson; but such a treasure seems to be un.o.btainable."

"I don't know--I think I could find you such a man, sir."

"You could! Oh, no; I want a regular valet, Smithson. I have grown sadly indolent, and I often wish a war would break out to rouse me up."

"This is a regular valet, sir."

"But--really, Smithson, I'm afraid I'm very lazy--can he shave?"

"Oh, yes, sir, and cut hair admirably."

"Indeed? A friend of yours?"

"Well, sir, not exactly; I used to know him."

"Whose company is he in?"

"Unfortunately, sir, he is not in this regiment."

"Smithson! how can you?" cried the lieutenant in lachrymose tones.

"What is the use of raising my hopes to dash them down? Is he a man of bad character who wants to join?"

"No, sir; he is a soldier already; but he is in the 310th, sir--the regiment we 'played in' the other day."

"In the 310th?" said the lieutenant, thoughtfully.

"And, of course, not available, sir."

"Is he anyone else's servant?"

"He is simply a private, sir."

"Then--I don't know, though. Perhaps I might--or I could--I--how tiresome!"

For at that moment d.i.c.k sprang from his seat, as he heard steps outside.

"You at home, Lacey?" cried a voice.

"Yes: come in."

As the door opened, the lieutenant said excitedly--

"What is this man's name?"

"Jeremiah Brigley, sir;" and the young officer carefully put down the name before d.i.c.k retreated and took his leave, the new arrival saying:

"Here, Smithson, I shall want you to give me some lessons, too."

The next minute d.i.c.k was crossing the barrack yard to reach his quarters, wondering whether it would be possible for Jerry to be exchanged, and meeting the bandmaster, who said rather gruffly--