CHAPTER XVII

"SOLDIER BILL"

Daisy placidly smoking, pursued the even tenor of his way, thinking of the pretty horse-breaker more than anything else; while disapproving, in a calm, meditative mood, of her hat, her habit, her bridle, and the leather tassels that danced at her horse's nose.

The particular business Mr. Walters had at present on hand in London, or rather Kensington must be explained.

Perhaps it may be remembered how, in a financial statement made by this young officer during the progress of a farce, he affirmed that, should he himself "burst up," as he called it, a certain "Soldier Bill" would become captain of that troop which it was his own ambition to command. With the view of consulting this rising warrior in his present monetary crisis, Daisy had travelled, night and day, from Ireland, nor could he have chosen a better adviser in the whole Army-List, as regarded kindness of heart, combined with that tenacious courage Englishmen call "pluck."

"I'm not a clever chap, I know," Bill used to acknowledge, in moments of expansion after dinner. "But what I say is this: If you've got to do a thing, catch hold, and do it! Keep square, run straight, and ride the shortest way! You won't beat _that_, my boy, with all the dodges that ever put one of your nobblers in the hole!"

It is but justice to admit that, in every relation of life, sport or earnest, this simple moralist acted strictly in accordance with his creed. That he was a favourite in his regiment need hardly be said. The younger son of a great nobleman, he had joined at seventeen, with a frank childish face and the spirits of a boy fresh from school. Before he was a week at drill, the very privates swore such a young dare-devil had never ridden in their ranks since the corps was raised. Utterly reckless, as it seemed, of life and limb, that fair-haired, half-grown lad, would tackle the wildest horse, swim the swiftest steam, leap the largest fence, and fight the strongest man, with such rollicking, mirthful enjoyment, as could only spring from an excess of youthful energy and light-heartedness. But, somehow, he was never beat, or _didn't know_ it when he _was_. Eventually, it always turned out that the horse was mastered, the stream crossed, the fence cleared, and the man obliged to give in. His war-like house had borne for centuries on their shield the well-known motto, "Go on!" To never a scion of the line could it have been more appropriate than to this light-footed, light-headed, light-hearted light dragoon!

In his own family, of course, he was the pet and treasure of all. His mother worshipped him, though he kept her in continual hot water with his vagaries. His sisters thought (perhaps reasonably enough) that there was nobody like him in the world. And his stately old father, while he frowned and shook his head at an endless catalogue of larks, steeple-chases, broken bones, etc., was more proud of Bill in his heart than of all his ancestors and all his other sons put together.

They were a distinguished race. Each had made his mark in his own line. It was "Soldier Bill's" ambition to attain military fame; every step in the ladder seemed to him, therefore, of priceless value. And promotion was as the very breath of his nostrils.

But a man that delights in personal risk is rarely of a selfish nature. In reply to Daisy's statement, made with that terseness of expression, that total absence of circumlocution, complimentary or otherwise, which distinguishes the conversation of a mess-table, Bill ordered his visitor a "brandy-and-soda" on the spot, and thus delivered himself.

"Troop be d----d, Daisy! It's no fun soldiering without your 'pals.' I'd rather be a 'Serrafile' for the rest of my life, or a 'batman,' or a trumpeter, by Jove! than command the regiment, only because all the good fellows in it had come to grief. Sit down. Never mind the bitch, she's always smelling about a strange pair of legs, but she won't lay hold, if you keep perfectly still. Have a weed, and let's see what can be done!"

The room in which their meeting took place was characteristic of its occupant. Devoid of superfluous furniture, and with an uncarpeted floor, it boasted many works of art, spirited enough, and even elaborate, in their own particular line. The series of prints representing a steeple-chase, in which yellow jacket cut out all the work, and eventually won by a neck, could not be surpassed for originality of treatment and fidelity of execution. Statuettes of celebrated acrobats stood on brackets along the walls, alternating with cavalry spurs, riding-whips, boxing-gloves, and basket-hilted sticks, while the place of honour over the chimney-piece was filled by a portrait of Mendoza in fighting attitude, at that halcyon period of the prize-ring--

"When Humphreys stood up to the Israelite's thumps, In kerseymere breeches, and 'touch-me-not' pumps."

"It's very pleasant this," observed Daisy, with his legs on a chair, to avoid the attentions of Venus, an ill-favoured lady of the "bull" kind, beautiful to connoisseurs as her Olympian namesake, but for the uninitiated an impersonation of hideous ferocity and anatomical distortion combined.

"Jolly little crib, isn't it?" replied Bill; "and though I'm not much in 'fashionable circles,' suits me down to the ground. Wasn't it luck, though, the small-pox and the regimental steeple-chase putting so many of our captains on the sick-list, that they detached a subaltern here to command? We were so short of officers, my boy, I thought the Chief would have made you 'hark back' from Ireland. Don't you wish he had? You'd better have been in bed on the 17th; though, by all accounts, you rode the four miles truly through, and squeezed the old mare as dry as an orange!"

"Gammon!" retorted Daisy. "She had five pounds in hand, only we got jostled at the run-in. I'll make a match to-morrow with Shaneen for any sum they like, same course, same weights, and---- But I'm talking nonsense! I couldn't pay if I lost. I can't pay up what I owe now. I'm done, old boy; that's all about it. When a fellow can't swim any farther, there's nothing for it but to go under!"

His friend pulled a long face, whistled softly, took Venus on his lap, and pondered with all his might.

"Look here, Daisy," was the result of his cogitations; "when you've got to fight a cove two stone above your weight, you don't blunder in at him, hammer-and-tongs, to get your jolly head knocked off in a couple of rounds. No; if you have the condition (and that's everything), you keep dodging, and waiting, and out-fighting, till your man's blown. Then you tackle to, and finish him up before he gets his wind again. Now this is just your case. Ask for leave; the Chief will stand it well enough, if he knows you're in a fix. _I'll_ do your duty, and you must get away somewhere, and keep dark, till we've all had time to turn ourselves round."

"Where can I go to?" said Daisy. "What a queer smell there is in this room, Bill. Something between dead rats and a Stilton cheese."

"Smell!" answered his host. "Pooh; nonsense. That's the badger; he lives in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. We call him 'Benjamin.' Don't you _like_ the smell of a badger, Daisy?"

Now "Benjamin" was a special favourite with his owner, in consideration of the creature's obstinate and tenacious courage. Bill loved it from his heart, protesting it was the only living thing from which he "took a licking;" because on one occasion, after a _very_ noisy supper, the man had tried, and failed, to "draw" the beast from its lair with his teeth! Therefore, "Benjamin" was now a free brother of the Guild, well cared for, unmolested, living on terms of armed neutrality with the redoubtable Venus herself.

Ignoring as deplorable prejudice Daisy's protest that he did _not_ like the smell of a badger, his friend returned with unabated interest to the previous question.

"You mustn't stay in London, that's clear; though I've heard there's no covert like it to hang in for a fellow who's robbed a church! But it wouldn't suit _you_. You're not bad enough; besides it's too near Hounslow. The Continent's no use. Travelling costs a hat-full of money, and it's very slow abroad now the fighting's over. A quiet place, not too far from home; that's the ticket!"

"There's Jersey," observed Daisy doubtfully. "I don't know where it is, but I daresay it's quiet enough."

"Jersey be hanged!" exclaimed his energetic friend. "Why not Guernsey, Alderney, or what do you say to Sark? No, we must hit on a happier thought than that. You crossed last night, you say. Does any one know you're in town?"

"Only the waiter at Limmer's. I had breakfast there, and left my portmanteau, you know."

"Limmer's! I wish you hadn't gone to Limmer's! Never mind; the waiter is easily squared. Now, look here, Daisy, you're not supposed to be in London. Is there no retired spot you could dodge back to in Ireland, where you can get your health, and live cheap? Who's to know you ever left it?"

His friend Denis occurred to Daisy at once.

"There's a farm up in Roscommon," said he, "where they'd take me in and welcome. The air's good, and living _must_ be cheap, for you can't get anything to eat but potatoes! I shouldn't wonder if they hunted all the year round in those hills, and the farmer is a capital fellow, never without a two-year-old that can jump!"

"That sounds like it," responded the other, with certain inward longings of his own for this favoured spot. "Now, Daisy, will you ride to orders, and promise to be guided entirely by _me_?"

"All right," said Daisy; "fire away."

"Barney!" shouted his friend, in a voice that resounded over the barracks, startling even the sergeant of the guard. "Barney! look sharp. Tell them to put a saddle on Catamount, and turn him round ready to go out; then come here."

In two minutes a shock-headed batman, obviously Irish, entered the apartment and stood at "attention," motionless, but for the twinkling of his light blue eyes.

"Go to Limmer's at once," said his master; "pay Mr. Walters's bill. Breakfast and B. and S., of course? Pack his things, and take them to Euston Station. Wait there till he comes, and see him off by the Irish mail. Do you understand?"

"I do, sur," answered Barney, and vanished like a ghost.

"You've great administrative powers, Bill," said his admiring friend. "Hang it! you're fit to command an army."

"I could manage the Commissariat, I think," answered the other modestly; "but of course you're only chaffing. I'm not a wise chap, I know; never learnt anything at school, and had the devil's own job to pass for my cornetcy. But I'll tell you what I _can_ do. When a course is marked out, and the stewards have told me which side of the flags I'm to go, I _do_ know my right hand from my left, and that's more than every fellow can say who gets up for a flutter in the pig-skin! And now I'm off to head-quarters to see the Chief, and ask leave for you till Muster, at any rate."

"You won't find him," observed Daisy. "It must be two o'clock now."

"Not find him!" repeated the other. "Don't you know the Chief better than that? He gets home-sick if he is a mile from the barrack-yard. It's my belief he was born in spurs, with the 'state' of the regiment in his hand! Besides he's ordered a parade for fitting on the new nose-bags at three. He wouldn't miss it to go to the Derby."

"You _are_ a good chap," said his friend. "It's a long ride, and a beastly hard road!"

Bill was by this time dressing with inconceivable rapidity, and an utter disregard of his comrade's presence.

"A long ride," he repeated, in high scorn, while he dashed into a remarkably well-made coat. "What do you call a long ride with a quad. like Catamount? Five-and-forty minutes is what he allows me from gate to gate; and it takes Captain Armstrong all his time, I can tell you, to keep him back to _that_! The beggar ran away with me one night from Ashbourne to the Royal barracks in Dublin; and though it was so dark you couldn't see your hand, he never made a wrong turn, nor let me get a pull at him, till he laid his nose against his own stable door. Bless his chestnut heart! he's the worst mouth and the worst temper of any horse in Europe. Look at him now. There's a pair of iron legs, and a wicked eye! It's rather good fun to see him kick directly I'm up. But I've never had such a hack, and I wouldn't part with him to be made Commander-in-Chief."

Daisy could do no less than accompany his host to the door, and see him mount this redoubtable animal, the gift of a trainer at the Curragh, who could do nothing with it, and opined that even Soldier Bill's extraordinary nerve would be unequal to compete with so restive a brute. He had miscalculated, however, the influence utter fearlessness can establish over the beasts of the field.

Catamount's first act of insubordination, indeed, was to run away with his new master for four miles on end, across the Curragh, but over excellent turf, smooth as a bowling-green: he discovered, to his surprise, that Bill wished no better fun. He then repeated the experiment in a stiffly-fenced part of Kildare; and here found himself not only indulged, but instigated to continue, when he wanted to leave off. He tried grinding his rider's leg against the wall: Bill turned a sharp spur inwards, and made it very uncomfortable. He lay down: Bill kept him on the ground an hour or two by sitting on his head.

At last he confined himself to kicking unreasonably, at intervals, galloping sullenly on, nevertheless, in the required direction, and doing a vast amount of work in an incredibly short space of time. He was never off his feed, and his legs never filled, so to Bill he was invaluable, notwithstanding their disputes, and a certain soreness about a Cup the horse ought to have won, had he not sulked at the finish: they loved each other dearly, and would have been exceedingly loth to part.

"My serjeant's wife will get you some dinner," said the rider, between certain sundry preliminary kicks in getting under way. "She's an outside cook, and I've told her what you'd like. There's a bottle of brandy on the chimney-piece, and soda-water in the drawer next the badger. I'll be back before it's time for you to start. Cut along, Catamount! Hang it! don't get me off the shop-board, before half the troop. Forrard! my lad! Forrard! away!" and Bill galloped out of the barracks at head-long speed, much to the gratification of the sentry manipulating his carbine at the gate. This true friend proved as good as his word. In less than three hours, he was back again, Catamount having hardly turned a hair in their excursion. The colonel had been kindness itself. The leave was all right. There was nothing more to be done, but to pack Daisy off in a Hansom, for Euston Square.

"Take a pony, old man," said Bill, urging his friend to share his purse, while he wished him "good-bye." "If I'd more, you should have it. Nonsense! I don't want it a bit. Keep your pecker up and fight high. Write a line if anything turns up. I'll go on working the job here, never fear. We won't let you out of the regiment. What is life, after all, to a fellow who isn't a light dragoon?"