‘I’m sure, sergeant, I’m extremely obliged to you,’ said Mrs. Cavendish, directly she recovered her breath. ‘What is your name? I must speak of you specially to the Colonel--Colonel Diggle--you know me, I presume? and I see you belong to “us.”’
‘Herbert Larkins, Madam, F company,’ said our hero briefly, as he saluted.
‘Thank you again, so much.’ And with that the Colonel’s wife rode off.
She did speak of him and his conduct in the most glowing terms.
‘Certainly, I’ll make him a present; or, better still, you shall--a watch, or a pencil-case, or something.’
‘No, no; something in the regiment, I mean. Promote him.’
‘He’s very young. Barely a year a sergeant. I don’t see my way, I don’t indeed.’
‘There are those vacant colours in G company,’ she said, displaying a curiously intimate acquaintance with regimental news.
‘It would be grossly unfair. Promotions must not go by favour.’
‘Kissing does,’ she replied, as though he might expect no such reward unless he were more obliging. It was just possible that by this time Diggle could have deprived himself of the pleasure without any acute pang.
‘That’s where it is. You think far more of displeasing Mr. Wheeler than of pleasing me. I feel hurt, Conrad; it’s not what I have a right to expect, considering--’
When she got on this tack the Colonel threw up the sponge. He gave in about the promotion, although the adjutant, thereby making Letitia his enemy for life, tried hard to keep him up to the mark.
The whole thing would have been a job of the worst kind had Herbert been less worthy. But he had really developed into an excellent soldier, smart, personable, and thoroughly well up in his work. He had his drill-book at his fingers’ ends, and could handle a squad as well as any man in the corps. He had learnt by heart all the details of interior economy, and was fully competent to take the charge and payment of a company, or to do credit to his regiment in any position in which he might be placed. All this Mr. Wheeler was forced to admit; and although he cherished a grudge against Herbert on account of what had passed, he so loved a good soldier that he could not bear malice long.
Colour-Sergeant Larkins was indeed fast becoming a very prominent person in the corps. Some backbiting and no little jealousy existed, no doubt, but he was the sort of man to soon outgrow and outlive such feelings. There was much in his manner and address to make him generally popular. His bright face, his cheerful voice, his manly straightforward ways, commended him of themselves. But he had other claims to the suffrages of his fellows. His old skill in games had not deserted him, and soldiers are very like schoolboys in their admiration and respect for personal prowess. The Duke’s Own eleven, thanks to Herbert’s batting and bowling, won every match always at the North Front. His brother sergeants felt lucky if they could secure him for a hand of fives. In all other gymnastic exercises he came equally well to the front. At the garrison athletic sports, which presently came off, as they always do, upon the racecourse at the North Front, he carried everything before him, to the intense gratification of his comrades in the corps.