CHAPTER XXII.
They've called thee by an evil word, They've named thee traitor, friend o' mine.
Thou askest faith?
I send my sword.
There is no greater, friend o' mine.
RALPH CUNNINGHAM said good-by to Brigadier-General Byng (Byng the Brigadier) with more feeling of regret and disappointment than he cared to show.

A born soldier, he did his hard-mouthed utmost to refrain from whining; he even pretended that a political appointment was a recognizable advance along the road to sure success--or, rather, pretended that he thought it was; and the Brigadier, who knew men, and particularly young men, detected instantly the telltale expression of the honest gray eyes--analyzed it--and, to Cunningham's amazement, approved the unwilling make-believe.
"Now, buck up, Cunningham!" he said, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder.

"You're making a good, game effort to hide chagrin, and you're a good, game ass for your pains.

There isn't one man in all India who has half your luck at this minute, if you only knew it; but go ahead and find out for yourself! Go to Abu and report, but waste no more time there than you can help.

Hurry on to Howrah, and once you're there, if Mahommed Gunga tells you what looks like a lie, trust him to the hilt!" "Is he coming with me, then ?" asked Cunningham in some amazement.
"Yes--unofficially.