Before an answer could be given the door was thrown open, and a brother-officer strode into the room in the shape of Lieutenant Wyatt, a tall, broad-chested fellow of seven or eight and twenty, a man whom nature had endowed with a tremendous moustache, all that was allowed to grow of a prolific beard.

Dick turned scarlet as he faced his visitor, who looked sharply round and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“Hullo, shrimp!” he cried. “What! have I caught you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dick sulkily.

“Of course you don’t. Get out, you wicked young fibster. You have not been inspecting your new plumage—not you! Trying on, and having a good look in the glass, have you?”

“Well, if I have, what then?” said Dick fiercely.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” cried the visitor, after giving a very fair imitation of the challenge of a game-fowl. “Hark at him! Oh, the fierceness of the newly-fledged officer! Don’t call me out, Dick, and shoot me. There, I apologise.”

“I suppose it was quite natural that I should look at the things and see if everything was there.”

“Quite, dear boy, quite. Well, has the snip sent in everything right?”

“I don’t know. I suppose so.”

“Don’t be cross, Dicky. Don’t sing out of tune. Well, do they fit?”

“I don’t know,” said the lad coldly.

“Haven’t you tried them on?”

“No.”

“Bless us! what self-denial! Well, I’m glad I dropped in at the nick of time. We’ll have ’em all out again.”

“That we won’t,” cried Dick shortly.

“That we will, my boy. I’m precious proud of our troop, and I’m not going to have my junior turn out a regular guy to make the men grin.”

Dick ground his teeth at the very thought of it. Grinned at—for a guy!

“Our uniform takes some putting on, my lad, and we can’t afford to let the ignorant sneer. We’re the picked corps, and why such a shrimp as you should have been allowed to join passes my comprehension.”

“Look here, Mr Wyatt, if you’ve come here on purpose to insult me, have the goodness to leave my room!” cried Dick fiercely, and feeling hot all over.

“Bravo! Well done, little un,” cried Wyatt, patting him on the back; “I like that.”

“Keep your hands off me, sir, if you please!” cried Dick furiously.

“Better still, shrimp.”

“And look here,” cried Dick, who was now bubbling over with anger, “if you dare to call me shrimp again I’ll—I’ll—Look here, sir, your conduct is most ungentlemanly, and I shall—I shall—”

“Kick me, and make me call you out; and we shall meet, exchange shots, shake hands, and be sworn friends ever after—eh, shrimp, lad? No; we’ll do it without all that. Yes, precious ungentlemanly of me, and it’s not nice to be laughed at and called names,” said Dick’s visitor. “Only my way, my lad. But I say, you know,” continued the young officer, taking a chair by the back, turning it round, and then mounting it as if he already had his left foot in a stirrup, raising his right leg very high so as to clear an imaginary cantle and valise, throwing it slowly over, and then dropping down astride, “I like that, but you are little and thin, you know.”

“I suppose I shall grow,” retorted Dick hotly, and the words were on his lips to say, “as big and rude and ugly as you are,” but he refrained.

“Grow? Like a weed, my lad. You’re just the big-boned fellow for it. We’ll soon make you put on muscle.”

“Thank you!” cried Dick scornfully.

“Bless us! what a young fire-eater it is! You’ll do, Dicky; that you will. From what I saw of you last night, I fancied you’d be a nice, quiet, mamma’s boy, and I was sorry that they had not kept you at home.”

“Indeed!” said Dick.

“Cool down, my lad; cool down now. You’ve shown that you’ve got plenty of stuff in you. There, shake hands, Darrell. Don’t be upset about a bit of chaff, boy. I am a bit of a ruffian, I know; but you and I have got to be friends. More than that—brothers. We fellows out here have to do a lot of fighting. Before long, perhaps, I shall have to be saving your life, or you saving mine.”

“That sounds pleasant,” said Dick, resigning his hand to the firm grip which closed upon it, and responding heartily, for there was something taking in the young man’s bluff way.

“Well, hardly,” said the latter, his face lighting up with a frank smile. “But never mind that; I only wanted to tell you that we’re a sprinkle of Englishmen among hundreds of thousands of fierce, fighting bullies, and we’ve got to set up our chins and swagger, and let every one see that we’re the masters. We don’t want milksops in the Flying Artillery.”

“And you think that’s what I am,” said Dick contemptuously.

“That I just don’t, shrimp. No, Dicky, I think quite t’other way on, and I’m a bit of a judge. I shall go back to Hulton and tell him you’ll do.”

“Thanks. But who’s Hulton? Stop, I know—the captain I met last night at the mess.”

“‘Who’s Hulton?’ Hark at the young heathen!” cried the visitor. “He’s your captain, my lad—captain of our troop, the finest troop of the grandest corps in the world. Now you know Hulton and the character of your troop. Don’t you feel proud?”

“Not a bit,” said Dick.

The young man reached forward and gave Dick a sounding slap on the shoulder.

“That settles it!” he cried. “I was right before. Yes, you’ll do. So now, then, let’s set to work.”

“To work? Now?”

“Yes; Hulton told me to come and look you up. ‘Go and see the young cub, and try and lick him into shape,’ he said.”

“One moment!” said Dick sharply. “Are you the bear of the corps?”

“The bear of the corps?” said the visitor, staring. “Oh, I see—a joke! The bear, to lick the cub into shape. Ha, ha! Yes, you’ll do, boy—you’ll do. But, to be serious. He said that we must make the best of you.”

“But, what nonsense!” said Dick. “I’ve gone through all my drilling at Addiscombe, and I’ve gone through a lot more with the foot regiment.”

“Oh, yes; but that’s as good as nothing to what you’ve got to do with us. You’ve been used to crawl, my lad; now you have to fly. I’ve got to help you use your wings, and it will make it easier for you with the drilling. What about the riding-school? Ever been on a horse?”

“Yes.”

“You learned to ride?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a pity, because you’ll have to unlearn that. But we shall make something of you. Here, put on your helmet.”

“Pooh! I have tried that on, and it fits.”

“You do as I tell you. What you call a fit perhaps won’t suit me. Bring it here.”

Dick obeyed unwillingly, and his brother-officer turned the headpiece upside-down and looked inside.

“Just as I expected,” he said, pointing: “not laced up. Look at this leather lining all cut into gores or points. What’s that for?”

“For ventilation, I suppose.”

“Venti—grandmother, boy! Nonsense! Look here; a lace runs through all those points. You draw it tight, tie it so, and it turns the lining into a leather skullcap, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yes, I see.”

“But you didn’t before, because you didn’t know. Helmets are heavy things, and you haven’t got to walk in them, but to ride, and ride roughly, too. Consequently your helmet must be kept in its place. Now, try it on.”

Dick slipped it over his head, and passed the chin-strap beneath.

“How is it? Humph! you look like a candle with the extinguisher on.”

“Can’t help that,” said Dick shortly. “It fits close and firm.”

“Of course it does. Seems to rest all over your head instead of being held on like a band round your brows. There, I’ve taught you something. Better let me see to your straps and slings. These tailors never have the slightest notion of how a man’s accoutrements are to be worn.”

The lieutenant examined straps and slings, altering the sword and sabretache buckles, and when these were to his satisfaction he turned to the jack-boots.

“Tried those on?” he said.

“Not yet.”

“Jump into ’em.”

“Oh, but not now.”

“Yes, now. If a man has a good-fitting pair of boots he’s half-dressed.”

“Rather a small half, isn’t it?” said Dick dryly.

“Bah! you’re talking about clothes; I’m talking about a horseman’s accoutrements. A man can ride twice as well if he has good boots. On with them.”

Once more Dick obeyed.

“Humph! seem to go on pretty easy. Hurt you?”

“No. A little tight perhaps.”

“They’ll soon give. Humph! Yes, those will do. You can manage about your clothes yourself. You did try ’em on for the tailor?”

“Yes.”

“Then they will not be so very full of wrinkles, I suppose. Let’s see; there was something else. Oh, yes, I remember. What about a horse?”

“I’ve done nothing about that yet.”

“I suppose not. You must have a good one, you know; but anything could carry you—you’re light as a feather—not like me. But there’s Morrison’s horse to be sold.”

“Morrison’s? Who was Morrison?”

“One of ours, he was killed, poor chap! and his effects were sold—all but his horses. There’s the one he used to ride in the troop, and it would make it easier for you, Hulton said, if you bought him; but—”

“But what?”

“He’s rather an awkward horse to ride unless you know him.”

“Well, I could get to know him,” said Dick.

“Humph! yes—in time; but he has bad habits.”

“I should have to break him off them.”

“Of course.”

“What does he do?”

“Likes playing tricks—biting his companions’ necks; and when he can’t get at them he tries men’s legs.”

“Pleasant!”

“Oh, very! Then, if he has some one on his back that he doesn’t like he’s fond of going on two legs.”

“Which two?” said Dick, laughing.

“Oh, he isn’t particular. Sometimes he chooses the forelegs, sometimes the hind. Then he dances a regular pas seul. Splendid horse to go when he has a strong hand at the rein and a big curb about the jaw.”

“I say,”—said Dick, and he stopped.

“Yes! What?”

“The horse did not kill his master, did he?”

“Morrison? Poor old chap! No; a bullet from one of those miserable old matchlocks finished him. He was too good a rider for any horse to kill. There, tuck your new toggery away. It looks nice and bright now, but it soon gets tarnished and dull—worse luck. Mind your man takes care of it, so as to make it last as long as it will. We’re obliged to keep up our character. Come out then, and let’s go and see Hulton, to get his opinion about a horse for you. By the way, what is your father?”

“A country doctor.”

“Very rich?”

“Oh, no; he’s comfortably off.”

“Ah, well, then you mustn’t be coming down too hard upon him for a horse. You’ve run up a pretty good bill for him already over your new outfit.”

“Oh, no,” said Dick quickly; “my Aunt Kate put five hundred pounds for me to draw upon to pay for my outfit.”

“What!” cried Wyatt, “you’ve an Aunt Kate with plenty of money who has done that?”

“Yes.”

“Give me her address, my dear boy; she must be everything that’s good.”

“She is,” said Dick warmly. “But why do you want her address?”

“To write and propose for her at once, sir,” said Wyatt, drawing himself up; “such a good woman ought not to remain single. She is single, of course?”

“Oh, yes,” said Dick, smiling.

“That’s right. I don’t suppose I shall get back to England for a dozen years, but I shall still be young. Let’s see; twenty-eight and twelve make forty, and that isn’t old, is it?”

“Oh, no—middle-aged.”

“You don’t think she’d mind waiting, do you, till then?”

“I can’t say,” said Dick merrily. “But, let’s see; sixty and twelve are seventy-two—would you mind waiting?”

“Ahem!” said Wyatt, clearing his throat; “five hundred pounds for you to draw upon. You can easily afford a good horse out of that.”

“Of course; it was meant for the purpose.”

“Then let’s go and see Hulton at once, and hear what he says.”

The uniform was quickly put away, Dick’s native servant being summoned; and then the two officers crossed the parade-ground to Captain Hulton’s quarters, where that quiet, thoughtful-looking personage gave Dick a friendly nod, and proceeded to chat over the subject in a very decisive manner after Wyatt had opened it and had not omitted to allude to Aunt Kate’s money.

“What do you say about Morrison’s Arab?” he said after a while.

“What! for our young friend here?”

“Yes.”

“Decidedly no!—There is no hurry, Darrell, and you need not be too eager about spending your money. Let it rest till a good, quiet, fast mount turns up—one that would suit you. Poor Morrison’s Arab is only fit for a rough-rider. We’ll find you something for the present—something that will not want much riding.”

“Very well, sir,” said Dick quietly; “you know best.”

“Well, I think so, Darrell,” said Captain Hulton, smiling. “When you have been out here ten years with the troop you will have had my experience. You do ride a little?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But not our way, of course. Done a little hunting at home, I suppose?”

“Yes, a little; but my father never encouraged me in it.”

“Of course not. Well, I’m glad you have joined, Darrell, and we will do our best to make you like the troop; but I’m afraid you will find our drill a bit rough, for we stand first as smart troop, and we have to work hard to keep our position.—I’m busy, Wyatt; so you must take Darrell round and show him the men, horses, and guns.”

“Right,” said Wyatt.—“Come along, Dick, my lad.”

“I wish he wasn’t so fond of Dicking me,” thought the boy; “but I suppose it’s his way.”