But Philip was becoming bored, and he presently escaped to retrace his steps up Broadway, up Fifth Avenue, and then west to the exceedingly modest lodgings whither fate and misfortune had wafted him.
On the way he passed Colonel Arran's big double house with a sullen and sidelong scowl, and continued onward with a shrug.

But he smiled no more to himself.
Burgess was in the room, cross-legged on the floor, ironing out his master's best coat.
"What the devil are you about," said Philip ungraciously.

"Get up.
I need what floor I've got to stand on." Burgess obediently laid the board and the coat on a trunk and continued ironing; and Philip scowled at him askance.
"Why don't you enlist ?" he said.

"Every car-driver, stage-driver, hackman, and racing-tout can become major-generals if they yell loud enough." Burgess continued ironing, then stole a glance at his master.
"Are you thinking of enlisting, sir ?" "No; I can't pass the examination for lung power.

By the way," he added, laughing, "I overlooked the impudence of your question, too.
But now is your time, Burgess.