The Senior Subaltern meant no harm; but his chaff was coarse, and he didn't
quite understand where to stop. He had been waiting too long for his company;
and that always sours a man. Also he was in love, which made him worse.
One day, after he had borrowed The Worm's trap for a lady who never existed,
had used it himself all the afternoon, had sent a note to The Worm purporting
to come from the lady, and was telling the Mess all about it, The Worm rose in
his place and said, in his quiet, ladylike voice: "That was a very pretty
sell; but I'll lay you a month's pay to a month's pay when you get your step,
that I work a sell on you that you'll remember for the rest of your days, and
the Regiment after you when you're dead or broke." The Worm wasn't angry in
the least, and the rest of the Mess shouted. Then the Senior Subaltern looked
at The Worm from the boots upwards, and down again, and said, "Done, Baby."
The Worm took the rest of the Mess to witness that the bet had been taken, and
retired into a book with a sweet smile.
Two months passed, and the Senior Subaltern still educated The Worm, who began
to move about a little more as the hot weather came on. I have said that the
Senior Subaltern was in love.
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