"’Then the adjutant keeps all the regimental pay in the safe?’ he asked of him one night.
"’Oh yes, there are the keys,’ replied the captain casually.
"Shortly after this Algy received a wire saying, ’Can you come for grouse-shooting on the Twelfth.—Lord Noddy.’ He rushed to the colonel and presented it, at the same time asking for leave.
"’Well, it’s unusual, my lad, but seeing who you are, you can go for seven days.’ And away went Algy with all his luggage. He got a cheer from the boys as he went through the gate, for he was the idol of all. The seven days passed, but on the eighth no Algy appeared.
"’Private Algy de Verepot absent, sir,’ was the report on the morning parade. It startled everybody. It was the talk of the garrison, and caused grief among the ladies in town. Had he been killed! Had he deserted! What had happened! These were the topics of the day. Algy’s disappearance caused more commotion than the coronation of a king. And then some strange things were discovered.
"£300 had been stolen from the adjutant’s safe.
"Algy’s servant missed all his furlough money.
"The colonel’s wife had given Algy a cheque for £50.
"And a barmaid from the town was missing. ’It can’t be Algy who has done this!’ said the regiment.
"’It was Algy,’ telegraphed the police from London, for he was arrested there, and got five years’ penal servitude.
"Algy was the biggest crook in London. He was proved to be the man who stole King Edward’s dressing-bag at Euston Station."
Just as Dominie had completed this yarn, the whole canteen was startled with the shout, "Who’s a liar?"
"You are—you stole ma pint o’ beer—ye thocht I wis drunk."
"Awa’ an’ bile yer heid," said the aggressor, a tramp piper, whose doublet was well soaked with ale.
Bang! went the fist of the aggrieved private on the piper’s nose. In a second the place was turned topsy-turvy. All joined in the fight. Lamps were smashed, tables crashed on the floor, glasses hurled across the room, and all the windows cracked. For ten minutes a deadly battle was waged in the inky darkness. And then some one shouted, "Scoot, boys, scoot—here’s the picket coming." And they did scoot. Some jumped through the windows, others hustled through the doors, and then half-staggering and running they reached their barrack-rooms, where, like true Militiamen, they tumbled quietly into bed.