LITMIR.BIZ

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help me? I could pay a servant to hang about the barracks until he recognized Dam—but that would be horrible for the poor boy. He'd deny it and say the man was mad, I expect—and it would be most unpleasant and unfair to Dam to set some one to find out from his comrades what he calls himself. If he chooses to hide from what he thinks is the chance of further disgracing his people, and suffers what he does in order to remain hidden, shall I be the one to do anything to show him up and cause him worse suffering—expose him to a servant?

      "How can I get him a letter that shall not have his name on it? If I wrote to his Colonel or the Adjutant and enclosed a letter with just 'Dam' on it they'd not know for whom it was meant—and I dare not tell them his real name.

      "Could you get a letter to him, Ormonde, without letting him know that you know he is a private soldier, and without letting a soul know his real name?

      "I do apologize for the length of this interminable letter, but if you only knew the relief it is to me to be doing something that may help him, and to be talking, or rather writing about him, you would forgive me.

      "His name must not be mentioned here. Think of it!

      "Oh, if it only would not make him more unhappy, I would go to him this minute, and refuse ever to leave him again.

      "Does that sound unmaidenly, Ormonde? I don't care whether it does or not, nor whether it is or not. I love him, and he loves me. I am his friend. Could I stay here in luxury if it would make him happier to marry me? Am I a terribly abandoned female? I told Auntie Yvette just what I had done, and though it simply saved her life to know he had not committed suicide (I believe she worshipped father)—she seemed mortally shocked at me for behaving so. I am not a bit ashamed though. Dam is more important than good form, and I had to show him in the strongest possible way that he was dearer to me than ever. If it was 'behaving like a servant-girl'—all honour to servant-girls, I think … considering the circumstances. You should have seen his face before he caught sight of me. Yes—and after, too. Though really I think he suffered more from my kissing him—in uniform, in the street—than if I had cut him. It would be only for the minute though … it must comfort him now, and always, to think that I love him so (since he loves me—and always has done). But what I must know before I can sleep peacefully again is the name by which he goes in the '2 Q.G's.,' so that I can write and comfort him regularly, send him things, and make him buy himself out when he sees he has been foolish and wicked in supposing that he has publicly disgraced himself and his name and us. And I'm going to make Grandfather's life a misery, and go about skinny and ragged and weeping, and say: 'This is how you treat the daughter of your dead friend, you wicked, cruel, unjust old man,' until he relents and sends for Dam and gets him into the Army properly…. But I am afraid Dam will think it his silly duty to flee from me and all my works, and hide himself where the names of de Warrenne and Stukeley are unknown and cannot be disgraced.

      "I rely on you, Ormonde,

      "Your ashamed grateful friend,

       "Lucille Gavestone."

      Second Lieutenant Delorme rang the bell.

      "Bradshaw," he said, as his soldier-servant appeared. "And get me a telegraph form."

      "Yussir," said Private Billings, and marched to the Mess ante-room purposefully, with hope in his heart that Mr. Delorme 'ad nothink less than a 'alf dollar for the telegram and would forgit to arx for the chainge, as was his occasional praiseworthy procedure.

      Mr. Delorme, alas, proved to have a mean and vulgar shilling, the which he handed to Private Billings with a form containing the message:—

      "Can do. So cheer up. Writing his adjutant, pal of mine. Coming over Saturday if get leave. Going Shorncliffe if necessary. Leave due. Dam all right. Will blow over. Thanks for letting me help."

      "'Fraid they don' give no tick at the Telegraft Orfis, Sir," observed Private Billings, who, as quondam "trained observer" of his troop, had noted the length of the telegram and the shortness of the allowance therefor.

      "What the deuce…?"

      "This is more like a 'alf-dollar job, Sir," he groaned, waving the paper, "wot wiv' the haddress an' all."

      "Oh—er—yes, bit thick for a bob, perhaps; here's half a sov…."

      "That's more like ''Eres to yer,' Mr. D——" remarked the good man—outside the door. "And don't yer werry about trifles o' chainge. Be a gent!"

      * * *

      Lucille read and re-read the telegram in many ways.

      "Can do so. Cheer up. Writing his adjutant. Pal of mine coming over Saturday. If get leave going Shorncliffe if necessary leave due Dam. All right will blow over thanks." No, that wouldn't do.

      (What a pity people would not remember when writing telegrams that the stops and capitals they put are ignored by the operators.)

      At last, the wish being father to the thought, she decided it to be "Can do" (she knew that to be a navy expression). "So cheer up. Writing. His adjutant a pal of mine. Coming over Saturday if I get leave. Going Shorncliffe if necessary. Leave due. Dam all right. Will blow over. Thanks for letting me help." Which was not far wrong.

      Dear old Ormonde! She knew he would not fail her—although he had been terribly cut up by her rejection of his suit and by his belief that Dam had let him haunt her in the knowledge that she was his own private property, secured to him.

      * * *

      Having dispatched his telegram and interviewed his Adjutant, Captain, and Colonel, Mr. Delorme sat him down and wrote to Lieutenant the Honourable Reginald Montague Despencer, Adjutant of the Queen's Greys:—

       "My Dear Monty,

      "At the Rag. the other day, respectfully dining with my respected parent, I encountered, respectfully dining with his respected parent, your embryo Strawberry Leaf, old 'Punch Peerson'. (Do you remember his standing on his head on the engine at Blackwater Station when he was too 'merry' to be able to stand steady on his feet?) I learnt that he is still with you and I want him to do something for me. He'll be serious about it if you speak to him about it—and I am writing to him direct. I'm going to send you a letter (under my cover), and on it will be one word 'Dam' (on the envelope, of course). I want you to give this to Punch and order him to show it privately to the gentlemen-rankers of the corps till one says he recognizes the force of the word (pretty forceful, too, what!) and the writing. To this chap he is to give it. Be good to your poor 'rankers,' Monty, I know one damned hard case among them. No fault of his, poor chap. I could say a lot—surprise you—but I mustn't. It's awfully good of you, old chap. I know you'll see it through. It concerns as fine a gentleman as ever stepped and the finest woman!

      "Ever thine,

       "O. Delorme."

      "Look here, my lambs—or rather, Black Sheep," quoth Trooper Punch Peerson one tea-time to Troopers Bear, Little, Goate, Nemo, Burke, Jones, and Matthewson, "I suppose none of you answers to the name of 'Dam'?"

      No man answered, and Trooper Peerson looked at the face of no man, nor any one at any other.

      "No. I thought not. Well, I have a letter addressed in that objurgatory term, and I am going to place it beneath my pillow before I go out to-night. If it is there when I come in I'll destroy it unopened. 'Nuff said,' as the lady remarked when she put the mop in her husband's mouth. Origin of the phrase 'don't chew the mop,' I should think," and he babbled on, having let his unfortunate friends know that for one of them he had a letter which might be received by the addressed without the least loss of his anonymity.

      Dam's heart beat hard and seemed to swell to bursting. He felt suffocated.

      "Quaint superscription," he managed to observe. "How did you come by it?" and then wished he had not spoken…. Who but the recipient could be interested in its method of delivery? If anyone suspected him of being

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