Chapter II: Part 2

“It’s this way,” said the signalman, appearing at the parapet wall, after starting Kenryck’s order upon its travels: “Orcutt and I--you may have noticed it--look almost enough alike to be taken for twins, especially since he’s forced out that moustache of his. And that’s the key to the mystery.”

“Give the key a twist, then,” said Kenryck. “Proceed with your exposition.”

“To continue,” obediently went on the young man, “_I’m_ the party for whom this Boardman is out gunning. He keeps a place where a lot of the students have club-tables, and I used to belong to a club of fellows that resorted there for nourishment--which, I may state, was not of the highest grade, though we paid a princely price for it. Well, last winter I had to be away from college for about three weeks, and I left without giving notice to Boardman. Which resulted in two claims: Boardman’s, that I owed him thirty dollars for three weeks’ un-eaten grub--and _mine_, that he ought to be struck by lightning for his superhuman nerve.”

“Ah! I have the clue now,” said Kenryck. “Come, let’s get to work on straightening out things. Pick up your flag, and--”

“But that’s not quite all of it,” interrupted the occupant of the turret. “You see, this man Boardman isn’t a pleasant person to have dealings with. He’s very rough-tongued, and never sand-papers down his sentences. And the last time we argued over our differences I was so displeased by his lack of breeding that I--well, he made me hot under my collar, and I hit him just above _his_. See?”

“Oho! he’s after you for assault, is he?” said Kenryck. “That’s pleasant for Orcutt!”

“Yes, for assault--and battery,” assented Millar. “And I judge that it may be _very_ pleasant for Orcutt. For Boardman swore that he’d get square with me some day, and I fancy--though the reports from across the river don’t go much into details--that he’s considerably in earnest about doing the squaring-up without any farther delay.” And, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, he gave way to another fit of laughter.

“Ah, yes!” said Kenryck, frowning darkly upon his subordinate, “all this is amazingly ludicrous, isn’t it? But you’ll have an aching arm, just the same, before you get through with swinging that bamboo stick of yours: for we’ve got to flag this story over to Cambridge--and a very pretty bit of flagging it’ll make! Come, we’ve kept the other lads long enough on pins and needles and anxious seats: we must get to work.”

The message to be sent was a long one. I sat down upon Kenryck’s chair, pulled out my tobacco pouch, and charged my pipe afresh, for there seemed to be nothing requiring my immediate attention. Minute slipped after minute, while Kenryck’s voice kept along in steady monotone, and the bunting above our heads--whirring and flapping in intermittent accompaniment--busily went on with the task of changing the spoken words into the symbols of the code.

“There, that’ll keep the hill men busy for a time,” Kenryck observed, when the flag upon the turret gave a final downward sweep and then became still. “Phew! it was a long pull.”

“Why don’t you cut your middle station out of the circuit?” I asked. “It would save time if you did your talking direct.”

“Couldn’t think of it,” he replied. “These boys are out for practical instruction, and I’m bound to see that they get it--_all_ of ’em.”

“Queer mix-up, isn’t it?” said I, with a laugh. “Wish I could have seen the proceedings at the other end of the line.”

“So do I,” said the signal lieutenant, joining in my laughter; “but I’m afraid this last message has spoiled the fun over there. Well, perhaps it had gone far enough.”

“‘B’ station has finished transmitting, sir,” announced the youth above us. “Cambridge has just made ‘O.K.’”

“All right,” answered Kenryck, lining his glasses upon the opposite terminal. “Now we’ll get some results.”

“All ready,” said I, pulling my pencil from behind my ear and adjusting my note-book. “Let it come.”

There was an interval of waiting, but at last the opposite tower began to talk, and, as Kenryck passed the words to me, I spread upon the page this remarkable entry:

“Told Boardman mistake. Says he knows better. Also, that we’re blanked liars. Orcutt very uneasy: growing insubordinate. Proposes to smash Boardman and policeman too. Tried to pitch loose tiles down upon their heads. I stopped him. Tower door locked on our side. Which prevents murder. Lieutenant better come over at once.”

This was cheeringly warlike. I burst into a roar of ill-timed mirth, while Kenryck laid down his glasses and strode back and forth upon the roof, giving profane utterance to his perplexity and paying no heed to the calling-off of the signals from the hill.

I read over my last entry in the book, and roared again, which caused Kenryck to pause in his tramping, glare at me, and snap out, “Can’t you let me think? I’ve got to call a halt in this business somehow--and there you sit, braying like a Himalayan donkey, and rattling the last idea out of me! How about those car-load lots of advice? Come, suggest something!”

“Heaven forbid!” said I, very earnestly. “This is your affair, and I’d never venture to hint that you’re not more than able to swing it alone. You’ve managed it beautifully so far as you’ve gone. But unless you want your corps to come in for a heap of free advertising in tomorrow’s papers, you’d do well to make another move--and a quick one.”

“I’ll call for a cab, and go over there myself,” announced Kenryck, with a vicious stamp upon the tiles, “and, by The Great Indian! when I _do_ get there I’ll give everybody--”

“Now just hold hard for a minute, my son,” I put in at this point. “Consider things calmly. What’s the use of going to all that bother? Besides, it would cost you all of three large dollars--and you can’t draw mileage for that kind of travelling. There’s a much easier and less troublesome way out of it.”

“Let’s have it then!” sputtered Kenryck. “You set yourself up to be a sort of lawyer, don’t you? Well, here’s an elegant chance to show your quality.”

“I am a lawyer,” said I, with unassuming dignity; “a young but very subtle one. And since it’s your wish that I should be of counsel in this case, why, I’ll settle your matter very speedily for you--and at something off from my usual rates. In fact, I’ll call it a charity job, and make no charge whatever. Now, pay attention to what I’m telling you. Here’s what you’ll do: order your sergeant to keep Orcutt quiet--if there’s no more convenient method, he may tip him over and sit on him--until I can--”

“_Yes_, he may!” put in Kenryck, in a highly aggravating tone. “Why, Orcutt weighs well up towards two hundred, besides being as full of temper as a razor blade--and the sergeant’s a little man!”

“Will you hear me out, you gibberer?” I inquired gently. “I don’t care how you manage it, but I want you to see to it that matters are kept _in statu quo_, until I come back. Understand? I’ll be gone only a minute.” And I gracefully lowered myself through the trap, and went rattling down the many flights of stairs that twist their way up through the tower’s dusky interior.

By rare good fortune I reached the ground floor without breakage of bones, and straightway made for the staff-room, where I hastily rummaged through my desk until I came upon a thin, black volume, emblazoned with the arms of the State, and inscribed in golden letters, “Militia Law.” Hastily running over its pages I found what I needed: and then, turning down the leaf, I thrust the book into my pocket, and started off for my second ascent into mid-air.

“Here you are, Ken.,” I cried, as I scrambled breathless out upon the roof. “I’ve brought you a bomb, and you can chuck it over into Cambridge as soon as you please.”

“You’ve been long enough in getting it,” was his ungracious response. “It wouldn’t take more than five or six of your ‘minutes’ to make an hour. Come, trot out your alleged bomb. Time’s precious.”

Withering Kenryck with a single expressive glance, I slowly drew out my little black book, opened it at the marked place, and said, “It would be serving you no more than properly, you ungrateful beggar, if I should draw out of this case altogether, and leave you up the tree! I may have taken a few seconds over a minute, but I’m willing to give plump odds that--going and coming--I’ve made a new regimental record in tower climbing. Well, here’s the medicine for your man Boardman--”

“You must excuse me, old chap,” said Kenryck hurriedly. “I dare say you tobogganed down on the banisters, and galloped up again on all-fours--but you certainly seemed a devil of a time in doing it.”

“Chapter three-sixty-seven, section one-nineteen, of the Revised Statutes,” I began, after receiving this graceful and ample apology, “would seem to furnish both the authority and the means for the abatement of this nuisance of which you make complaint. It runneth thuswise: ‘If any person interrupts or molests or insults, by abusive words or behavior, or obstructs any officer or soldier while on duty or at any parade or drill, he may be put immediately under guard and kept at the discretion of the commanding officer of the detachment until the duty is concluded: and such commanding officer may turn over such person to any police officer or constable of the city or town: and said police officer or constable shall detain him in custody for examination and trial: and any person found guilty of either of the offences enumerated in this section shall be punished by imprisonment in the jail or house of correction not exceeding six months, or by fine not exceeding one hundred dollars.’”

I flatter myself that I must have read this tangle of clauses with truly judicial emphasis and solemnity, for--when I came to the end of it, and demanded, “How’s that?”--Kenryck gave a yell of delight, and shouted, “Out at the plate, by Jupiter!” And the youth upon the turret displayed such violent symptoms of joy that I feared lest he should tumble from his dizzy perch.

“Oh! that’s too good to be true,” gasped Kenryck, after a prolonged paroxysm of laughter. “It fits like an old glove, too! Well, here goes for trying it on: I’ll send over the whole blessed section, though it’ll make an outrageously long message, and order the sergeant to spout it down at ’em from the tower. Jumping Jonah! _won’t_ it do ’em up?”

“It’s a beautiful bit of rhetoric,” said I, glancing through the passage again; “there are just twelve _or’s_ in it--enough to fit out a ‘varsity eight and two single scullers. But I consider that it will answer your purpose very cleverly.”

I handed over the book, pointed out the all-powerful section, and sat down, more than well pleased with my share in the proceedings. Kenryck explored the interior of his braided blouse, discovered a cigar, and silently handed it to me--an action which proclaimed more eloquently than words his deep appreciation of the value of my services.

The transmission of this lengthy quotation from the law of the land took some little time. My cigar burned slowly on until half its original bulk had fallen away in ashes before we caught the first signal in reply to our communication. But the response, when finally it came, made us speedily forget the time we had spent in awaiting it.

“Stand by to register,” cautioned Kenryck, who for several minutes of silence had been sharply scanning the far-off tower. I hurriedly drew out my knife, and put a better point upon my pencil. “There she blows! Ready are you? Then score up this--

“‘Have quoted law. No go! Boardman says law may be dash-double-blanked, and men who made it may be blank-double-dashed. Policeman says law doesn’t concern him: his orders are to arrest on warrant. Big crowd gathered in street, guying us. Situation something awful. Orcutt in open mutiny. Will Lieutenant _please_ come?’”

This was sufficiently definite, surely. Kenryck turned and stared blankly at me. Out of respect for his feelings I refrained from laughing.

“When you get that message from the hill,” he shouted to the man upon the turret, “make your acknowledgment signal, and then send over word that I’m coming. Can you do it alone?” And, upon receiving an affirmative answer, he made for the trap in the roof and disappeared.

I hastily stuffed the note-book into my pocket, and followed him. Down the shaking stairs we went, at a neck-or-nothing pace, until we landed at the bottom. And then Kenryck shot himself into the armorer’s room, and dropped into the chair before the telephone.

_Br-r-r-r!_ went the little bell. “Hello! Central? Give me Cambridge, please.” A pause. “This Cambridge? Well, will you give me the chief of police?” Another and a longer wait. “Hello! You the chief of Cambridge police? I’m Kenryck--Lieutenant Kenryck--commanding signal corps, third volunteer brigade. Got that? _Yes!_ Well, I’ve sent a detail over to Memorial Hall, under duty orders. Now, my men are being interfered with and insulted by a citizen. There’s a curious sort of mistake.” Here he put in an elaborate explanation. “But the thing must be stopped, right away. I make formal complaint to you, under section--wait a second, please.”

I supplied him with chapter and verse for the text of his discourse, and he went on, “Under section one-nineteen, chapter three-sixty-seven, of the statutes. And I want you to take this citizen--_yes_, Boardman’s his name, but I don’t know the initials--into custody until I can come over to attend to him. What’s that? You’d like to look up the statute? All right--only kindly be quick about it.”

Then came a long interval. I ventured to say a word or two, but Kenryck turned upon me a warning scowl which reduced me at once to silence. “Hello!” he finally sang out, in answer to some communication over the wire. “You’ll see that your men take care of him? That’s good. Thanks! Hope we may be able to do as much for _you_, some day. I’ll be over later. Good day.”

He hung the receiver upon its hook, rang off, and rose from his seat, smiling like one who feels conscious of having done a clever thing. “It’s a poor law,” said he, “that can’t be worked both ways.”

“Yes, the law may be likened unto a double-edgéd sword--and woe upon them that monkey therewith!” I replied. “And now what?”

“Now we’ll scale the tower again,” announced Kenryck, “to await developments. And, unless I’m wide in my guess, we’ll find things running _our_ way when we get our next news from over the river.”

“You’re not going over, then?” I asked.

“No,” said Kenryck very decidedly; “not if I know myself. It would cost me all of three large dollars--and one can’t draw mileage for that sort of travelling.” By which I was led to believe that a part, at least, of my advice had not fallen upon stony ground.

“I shall let the police gather in my man,” he went on, as we panted up the last steep flight of stairs, “and then, after the siege has been raised, telephone over that I’ll not press the charge against him. How’ll that do?”

We climbed out, one after the other, upon the roof. Kenryck in a few words explained to his signalman what had been done, and then we sat down to await the final report. It was not a long waiting. In less than ten minutes the bit of color upon the Cambridge tower began its weird dance and, signal by signal, industriously sent across to us these tidings of comfort and joy:

“Patrol wagon just sailed up! Boardman bundled into it, speechless with rage. Policeman gone, too. Crowd has applauded operations and mostly dispersed. Orcutt manageable again--and coast clear.”

I shook hands with Kenryck. The youth upon the turret--who, without waiting for the hill station to repeat, had translated all this for his own benefit--waved his flag madly ‘round his head, and then hugged himself with delight. And we all three roared in chorus and loudly.

“We’ll let it go at that,” said Kenryck finally, “and call it a day’s work. Make your signal for closing stations, Millar, and pack up your kit. Here,” as he happened to look in my direction, “you can’t have those!”

“Oh, yes, I can,” said I, folding up and stowing away in my pocket the two leaves that I had just torn from the note-book. “Of course I can have ’em. Aren’t they in my own handwriting? And besides, they’ll be useful--labelled ‘Exhibits _A_ and _B_’--when I’m retained to defend you against a suit for false imprisonment.”

But the suit has never been brought, and the stolen leaves lie undisturbed, pasted side by side in the big scrap-book which rests upon the top of the bookcase, up in The Battery. Ask Sam to hunt them out for you, when next you happen to find yourself up there.

ONE FROM THE VETERAN.

“Everything’s calm,” said the lieutenant-colonel, “and apparently liable to stay so. I’ve been through the whole brigade--’way down to the cavalry quarters, and back through the gunners’ and infantry camps--and the peacefulness of things reminds me of the old nursery jingle,

‘And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse.’

Well, this tour of mine’s been an easy one. I’ve been under canvas with the old brigade for just nineteen rolling years, and so when I say that this camp walks right away with the trophy for quietness, I’m speaking by the card.”

“Wouldn’t it be a pious idea if we were to turn in, then?” inquired the adjutant, adding to his remark a suggestive and very audible yawn. “Field officers of the day aren’t supposed to sit up all night--at least, not in time of peace. I’m feeling just a wee bit sleepy myself.”

Midnight had come and gone. The camp lay silent, its snowy tents looming out dimly in the faint, midsummer starlight. Not a murmur hinted at the presence of the three thousand sleeping men hidden away beneath the shimmering whiteness of the canvas. The sleepy sentry pacing slowly to and fro before regimental headquarters seemed only a deeper shade in the shadowy picture. His measured tread upon the dew-dampened turf roused no echo.

There came into view a spectral shape, striding rapidly towards the quarters of the non-commissioned staff. “Hi!” called the lieutenant-colonel softly. “_Hi!_ that you, Sam?”

At this challenge the spectre changed its course and approached the adjutant’s tent, in front of which, and under the protecting fly, the two officers were sitting. “Yes, it’s me,” answered the voice of the veteran orderly of The Third. “That you, Col’n’l Wentworth? Anything I can do for ye?”

“I’d be glad to know why you’re prowling ’round at this time of night,” said the lieutenant-colonel mildly. “You’re old enough to be setting the boys a better example.”

“I judge ye’re correct, Col’n’l,” assented Sam, still standing attention in front of the tent. “I’d oughter be in quarters. But down in B Comp’ny’s street I run’d onto a feller that was in the war. Now, them fellers is gittin’ scarcer’n honest men in the city gov’nment, an’ so it follered that we got to yarnin’, give an’ take, turn an’ turn about, ’til we clean lost track o’ the time.”

It might be well to mention here that Sam is _the_ privileged character of the Third Infantry. It has been explained elsewhere how Colonel Elliott discovered the old man enjoying his well-earned _otium cum dig._ in the Soldiers’ Home, down at Old Point. It also has been told how, by a risky bit of work, back in ’64, he won the Medal of Honor which he wears upon the breast of his dress-coat. To be sure, he guesses, “Bein’ nothin’ but copper, ’taint worth much”--but by the rest of the Old Regiment it is held at a somewhat higher valuation.

Now, the customs of The Third do not tend to encourage the spinning of yarns by enlisted men in officers’ quarters, but to this well-established rule there is one exception. That exception is made in favor of Sam. And since his webs of fact and fancy are woven, for the most part, after darkness has descended upon the face of the earth, the breach of service etiquette is not sufficiently evident to be demoralizing. All of which is explanatory.

The adjutant stepped back into the depths of his tent, and presently returned with a fistful of cigars and an extra camp-stool. “Set ye, Sam,” said he, appropriating one of the veteran’s pet idioms. “Set ye, and lend a hand at smudging out mosquitoes.”

The old orderly borrowed a light from the lieutenant-colonel, and seated himself, with his elbows resting upon his knees and his hands comfortably clasped before him. “I’ve bin a-thinkin’,” said he, “how this milishy business has changed since I was a boy. Never happened to see an ol’-fashioned muster, did ye? Nat’rally not. Ah, them was the days o’ plumes an’ swords, an’ gingerbread an’ rum, an’ _genuine_ patriotism!”

The adjutant, forgetting the darkness, winked at the lieutenant-colonel. Wentworth rose, stepped outside for a final survey of the sleeping-camp, and then returned to his place. “There were giants in those days, eh?” he said, turning up the collar of his great-coat.

“Yes, ther’ was,” said Sam, impressively, “ther’ was indeed. An’ giant-killers, too. Ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee was a giant. You’d oughter seen _him_! Six-foot-two, he was. My land! he was a rare sight when he was in his milishy togs, with his boots an’ spurs, an’ his buff breeches, an’ his blue coat with buff facin’s, an’ his flamin’ red sash, an’ his terruble long sword, an’ his high shako, with the wavin’ plume a-top an’ the soarin’ brass eagle on the front of it.” Sam paused for lack of breath.

“An’ Maj’r Otis Prouty was another giant,” he continued. “I’ve told ye how the Maj’r trounced ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee, up to Lond’nderry muster. No? Oh, that was a tremenjous battle,” he chuckled softly to himself, “a tremenjous battle while it lasted.”

“_So?_” queried the adjutant. “Was it the custom for junior field-officers to thump their chiefs?”

“Gen’rally, no,” said Sam. “As a rule ’twa’nt a safe undertakin’, ’cause the men that rose up to be col’n’ls was men that run’d to pritty large sizes. Ol’ Leatherbee was a man o’ consid’able breadth an’ heft. But he was some lackin’ in sperrit. O-ho! he cert’nly _was_ lackin’ o’ gimp. An’ the time when Otis Prouty tipped him over was only one o’ two times that he was downed with all four p’ints a-touchin’. For ther’ was another time ’sides that ’un.” And here the old gunner again laughed softly over some remembrance.

“I guess I’ll have to tell ye. ’Twas like this: the ol’ Col’n’l, a’ter runnin’ in single harness for nigh onto fifty year, had to go an’ git himself married. Not that ’twa’n’t right for him to do’t; the Scriptures has established the principle that ’taint well for man to be alone. Only, mistakes sometimes happens. An’ Col’n’l Leatherbee added one more mistake to the list when he went an’ had himself mattermonially yoked with Tildy Pettus. By doin’ which he shown the beauty o’ the tex’ which states that fools goes a-rushin’ in where angels is ’fraid o’ bein’ entertained unawares.

“I said, didn’t I, that ol’ Leatherbee was a giant? Wal, Tildy, _she_ was a giant-killer! ’Fore she was promoted to the command o’ the Col’n’l’s establishment she used to be a school-ma’am. An’ if she didn’t rule her little, red-painted institution o’ learnin’ with a rod of iron ’twas only ’cause birch-rods come cheaper an’ handier, besides bein’, when sci’ntifically applied to youthful students, more blisterin’ than iron in a highly-het condition. Oh, she made a great name for herself as a discipliner, an’ when she quit teachin’, the boys an’ girls o’ that time felt that life still had some sweetness left for the down-trodden an’ oppressed. They likewise made existence a burnin’ torment for the nex’ teacher, which happened to be a dyspepsic striplin’ from somewheres down-country.

“Now, Tildy Pettus--I mean Mis’ Col’n’l Leatherbee--were ’thout doubt a good looker. She wa’n’t tall; the ol’ Col’n’l useter say, ‘She aint long for this world’--meanin’ that she stood ’bout five-foot-three in her high-heeled slippers. Her cheeks was quite red an’ attractive, an’ she was plump an’ wholesome to the eye. But ther’ useter be a kind o’ furrow that’d crease itself down ’twixt her eyebrows when things didn’t go just to suit her, an’ when that occurred, which wa’n’t unfrequent, them that knew her took it for a sign that ’twas ’bout time to display the better part o’ valor--which, so we’re told, is discretion. For Tildy had a tongue--a _sharp_ ’un--an’ a copious dictionary to draw words from when the sperrit moved her to the usin’ on ’em.

“Not that, in speakin’ o’ the sharpness o’ the female tongue, I’m castin’ any reflections on wimmin-kind _as_ such,” explained Sam. “Lor’ knows I’ve been admirin’ wimmin more or less for better’n half a century. But some on ’em, havin’ tongues o’ great keenness, makes remarks which cuts most distressful. An’ yet, if female tongues be keen, the male tongue often is blunt; an’ I haint yet quite made up my mind whether it hurts the worst to be cut by a sharp tongue or bruised black-an’-blue by a blunt ’un. It’s some’at a’ter the fashion o’ politics--‘Both the Old Parties has grave defec’s in their make-up.’

“Wal, Mis’ Leatherbee settled down as commandin’ officer o’ the big, white house wherein the Col’n’l hitherto had reigned alone, in fancy meditatin’ free. An’ lackin’ her former exercise o’ disciplinin’ scholars, an’ havin’ no childern of her own to put through a course o’ sprouts, she fell into the way o’ providin’ herself with amusement by a-teachin’ her husband of his P’s an’ Q’s. An’ this was very entertainin’ for the both on ’em. For she’d bin used to seein’ her dear little pupils set up an’ take notice when she spoke to ’em; while the Col’n’l--wal, he’d bin accustomed to doin’ pritty much whatever he darn’ pleased, an’ furthermore had got well sot in the habit. However, like most men that gits married late in life, he was fond of his wife, an’ when she didn’t go for to nag him too hard they managed to jolt along together well’s most married folks.

“Now, one o’ the Col’n’l’s pet habits, I must tell ye, was to employ a consid’able share of his evenin’s, durin’ the winter, in settin’ into a congenial cotery which was in the way o’ gatherin’ themselves together ’round the fire-place at the ta-avern. He were a man o’ some prom’nence in them parts, an’ what he said carried great weight, he havin’ bin to the legislatur’ for a couple o’ terms, an’ havin’ bin selec’man time out o’ mind, ’sides havin’ held ’most every title in the milishy ’ceptin’ jigadier-brindle--which is what the boys useter call the brigadier gen’ral. So his remarks nat’rally was received with great respec’, an’ when he explained the strategematical mistakes that was made by both sides durin’ the Revolution an’ the War of 1812, ther’ wa’n’t no one that felt called upon to set up a very vehemient opinion to the contrariwise. ’Specially while he was a-settin’ up o’ the rum, which, for to give him his dues, he done as a rule, an’ freely; sometimes so freely that when it come breakin’-up time, both him an’ his constituents would be a-showin’ sympt’ms o’ coagulation o’ the speech.

“From all o’ which it follers that in some ways ol’ Leatherbee was the darn’est man ye ever seen. Which bein’ so, his wife must o’ necess’ty bin the nex’ to the darn’est. In the first place, ’twa’n’t proper nor ’cordin’ to the rules o’ polite behavior for him, havin’ saturated his system with ol’ Santy Crooze extracts, to go home an’ try to convince Mis’ Leatherbee that, if he’d bin in command o’ the American forces, the maraudin’ British wouldn’t never’ve had occasion to make a hollowcost o’ the city o’ Washin’ton; because she, not bein’ a soldier, couldn’t be expected to take no int’rest in topics o’ them kind, ’specially at the untimely hour o’ night at which they usually was brought up for her consid’ration. _And_ which bein’ all granted, ’twa’n’t, in the second place, hardly good taste on her part to address such remarks to her errin’ spouse as she sometimes allowed herself for to do; ’cause, if he wa’n’t her superior, he cert’nly was her senior. An’ no man o’ proper respec’ for himself enjoys bein’ called, earnest-like, a ’sozzlin’ soak.’ This ye may set down for a fac’, sure’s ye’re a foot high.

“P’raps I’m goin’ too heavy into details, an’ not figgerin’ my account down to a p’int fine enough to match the lateness o’ the hour. But I’ve told ye enough, anyways, to make it evident that the affairs o’ the Leatherbee household was runnin’ along in a fashion that was bound to wind up in a climax sometime. An’ finally the climax come, the arrival of it bein’ somewhat in thiswise:

“’Twas on a terruble stormy night, ’long towards the end o’ Jan’ary. The ol’ Col’n’l had went down to the ta-avern uncommon early, an’ had evened things up by stayin’ more’n respectable late. So when he fin’lly got himself boosted out’n his chair by the fire, an’ started off to go home, clean to t’other end o’ the town, the clock in the steeple o’ the Orthodox church had got through with the business o’ knockin’ out midnight an’ was a-puttin’ up its hands to strike the next hour which might happen to come along that way, feelin’ confident, as ye might say, that it could send it to sleep in one round.

“‘Col’n’l,’ says the ol’ man to himself, as he went ploughin’ along through the snow, ‘Col’n’l, ye have tarried too long with the serpint which do lurk in the wine-cup.’ This, however, wa’n’t stric’ly true, ’cause ther’ hadn’t bin no wine at all connected with the evenin’s entertainment, he havin’ confined his attention exclusive to rum-an’-molasses.

“‘Col’n’l Leatherbee,’ says he again, a little further on, ‘I’ve sore misgivin’s in regards to the reception that’s a-waitin’ ye yonder.’ It was a great trick o’ the ol’ man’s to talk to himself when a-laborin’ under stimulous excitement. But he always done it respectful, never allowin’ himself to forgit the position in the community which he held. At the proper time an’ place he was able an’ willin’ to swear the legs off’n an iron pot; but he never swore at himself, nor at his wife, neither.

“‘I must be firm in the hour of adversity,’ says he, when he had steered himself far’s his own gate. ‘“Budge not, lest ye be budged” shall be my motter. I will be silent under the wrath to come. It is written that strong waters run deep; _I_ will run deep also.’ This is what he actu’lly said. I know it, because the ol’ man had bin talkin’ in a very deep tone, so’s to give himself all the courage possible, an’ the lan’lord o’ the ta-avern heard every blessed word, he havin’ follered the Col’n’l far’s his door, to make sure that he didn’t lay himself down to slumber in no snow-drift, arguin’ that he were too valuable a customer to be careless of.

“Wal, Col’n’l Leatherbee navigated careful acrost the door-yard, leavin’ a trail as crooked as if’t had bin made by the serpint which he’d mentioned, but the beautiful snow come down an’ covered the tracks, so’s they shouldn’t set the neighbors to talkin’ next mornin’. An’ that was the last seen o’ the Col’n’l, that night, by any mortal eye ’ceptin’ his wife’s. However, the rest o’ what I’m goin’ to tell ye sets on a pritty good foundation, for it comes direc’ from Mis’ Leatherbee herself, she havin’ bin so tickled by the subsequence of events that she just couldn’t keep her mouth shet, an’ had to go trottin’ over to tell the whole story to her nex’ best friend. By which channels the report was duly an’ officially promulgated.

“After wrastlin’ successful with the latch o’ the door, the ol’ man ushered himself into the house. An’ then, havin’ pulled off his boots an’ dumped his big coat, snow an’ all, down onto the floor, he slipped into the sleepin’-room an’ begun to diverge himself from the rest of his clothin’. Everythin’ went fust-rate for a while, not a whisper comin’ from the big four-posted bedstid to disturb his nerves. But Mis’ Leatherbee was just layin’ low, like a masked batt’ry. An’ all of a sudden she opened onto him.

“My gor-_ri_! She begun with solid shot, an’ then changed off onto percussion shell, an’ fin’lly started a-servin’ out canister. The tempest outside had bin doin’ tol’able lively work up to this p’int; but when Mis’ Leatherbee got fairly het up to the occasion the wind give a last despairin’ howl, an’ went switchin’ down the valley an’ into the nex’ township, like it owned up that it wa’n’t runnin’ no opposition to the rumpus she was a-raisin.’

“The ol’ Col’n’l, he were took completely by su’prise, bein’, as it were, off’n his guard. He’d bin expectin’ a to-do o’ some sort, but the rakin’ he was a-gettin’ went clean beyond his most cheerful calculations. For a minute he stood stock an’ still in his tracks, plumb dumb-foundered. An’ then his knees got wobbly, an’ he sot down suddin on the floor, for to collec’ his idees.

“So far it had bin a jug-handled discussion--meanin’ that all the talkin’ had bin on one side. An’ as the ol’ man sot ther’ a-rummagin’ for thoughts, he come acrost his original plan, layin’ tucked away safe an’ sound under the roof of his head, an’ recollected that he wa’n’t a-goin’ to say nothin’, no matter what happened.

“But, ’stid of abatin’, the roarin’ whirlwind of abuse kep’ growin’ stronger, an’ the Col’n’l kind o’ lost sight”--

“_S-st!_” broke in the adjutant, raising his hand, and leaning forward. “Hear anything?”

“Yes; sabres a-clinkin’,” answered Sam promptly, cocking his head to one side and peering out into the gloom. “Ye can’t fool me on that sound; I’ve heard it too often, farther south than we be now. Guess likely it’s the provo’s.”

The lieutenant-colonel stepped out from beneath the tent-fly, and went to meet a little squad which was making its way up from the left of the line. After a moment’s parley he returned to the tent, and the shadowy group moved on, the clank of the sabres sounding more faintly as the troopers vanished into the darkness. “Two of the provost-guard, running in a tramp found asleep back of the cavalry stables,” he explained, as he seated himself. “Proceed with your fiction, Sam.”

“Queer, how them tramps always hang ’round volunteer camps, aint it?” said Sam. “Ther’ aint nothin’ in it for ’em, ’ceptin’ the guard-house if they happens to git collared. An’ yit they turn up reg’lar, year in an’ year out. Must be they’re sent providentially for to give practice to the provo’s. Le’ me see; where was I? O, yes; ye left we two a-settin’ here, an’ ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee a-settin’ on the floor of his bedroom, waitin’ for the clouds to roll by. Wal, I’ll proceed, but not with no fiction; what I’m given’ ye is solemn an’ sacred fac’s.

“The clouds in the Leatherbee mansion, ’stid o’ rollin’ by, kep’ growin’ heavier an’ blacker, an’ Mis’ Leatherbee’s stock of ammunition didn’t show no signs o’ runnin’ low. So fin’lly the ol’ Col’n’l’s dander begun to come up, an’ ’fore he knew it, he’d forgot that he were goin’ to suffer all things in uncomplainin’ silence.

“‘Mis’ Leatherbee,’ says he, ‘my dear mad’m, like the wintry snow, we are driftin’--_hic!_--driftin’ apart. At the present moment we’re as far apart’s the two ends of a stick. Which means bein’ sep’rated as widely’s the feeble human intellec’ can conceive.’ Now, anybody with eleven idees to the inch might have seen that the ol’ man wa’n’t in no condition to pass remarks with his good lady; but, oncet havin’ got fair started, he progressed right along, regardless o’ the fac’ that he were violatin’ the agreement he’d made with himself previous.

“‘’Tis best that we should end this painful interview,’ he says, a-climbin’ up onto his mutinous legs. ‘Alas! ther’ aint but one way, an’ that a awful--_hic!_--awful gashly one! But ye’ve drove me to’t. I ther’fore bid ye farewell, Mis’ Leatherbee. I also trust that your few remainin’ years may be cheered by no remorse. Your very respectful an’ obedient servant, Nathan Leatherbee, Col’n’l commandin’ Tenth Reg’ment Milishy.’ This may sound ridic’lous, but it’s word for word what the ol’ man said. Honest! His brain was so shooken-up by the razzlin’ he’d bin gittin’ that he truly couldn’t tell whether he were makin’ of a speech or writin’ of an official letter.

“Wal, bein’ more or less firm established on his feet, he zig-zagged himself out into the kitchen, his house follerin’ the plan o’ most country houses o’ that time, an’ havin’ a thunderin’ big kitchen, with a lot o’ rooms openin’ out of it. Here he sashayed over to the cupb’d, an’ took out a slashin’ big carvin’ knife, an’ begun to whet it up on the steel which went with it, makin’ more noise than a hay-maker puttin’ an edge onto his scythe. Mis’ Leatherbee had stopped talkin’, an’ ’twas plain to be seen that she were a-listenin’ to the proceedin’s.

“The ol’ Col’n’l fixed the knife to suit him, an’ then slipped into the closet an’ fetched out a ham which happened to be there, settin’ it down careful-like onto the table. ‘Mis’ Leatherbee, do ye relent?’ says he in a solemn tone. If she did, she didn’t say so. ‘Ther’s yet time, ma’am,’ says he, pausin’ for a reply. Not a word come from the bedroom; the silence was truly appallin’. ‘Once more, then,’ says he, in a chokin’ voice, ‘an’ for the last time, farewell!’ An’, with that, he plunked the carvin’ knife into the ham, with a sick’nin’ _chug_, give a fearful groan, an’ flopped down heavy onto the floor.

“Now, ’twas gol-_dum_ cold out ther’ in the kitchin, an’, as I told ye, the Col’n’l had dispensed with most of his clothin’ before bein’ drove to the committin’ of his rash deed. Consequently, after layin’ ther’ in the dark for a minute, he begun to have chills, an’, to keep his teeth from chatterin’, he had to groan some more, which he done this time in good earnest. But Mis’ Leatherbee staid comfortable in bed.

“Wal, fin’lly Col’n’l Leatherbee give a combination o’ groan an’ gasp an’ guggle that fair rattled the dishes on the closet shelves. An’ then his wife speaks up, an’ says, says she, ‘Aint ye dead yet, _Mister_ Leatherbee?’ To which he answered, truthful, ‘No; but I’m tormented nigh to bein’!’--‘Hurry up an’ die, then,’ says she, ‘I want to be gittin’ to sleep.’ An’ he heard her turnin’ over in bed, an’ smoothin’ down her piller.

“That was the last straw that done the giant-killin’ business. The ol’ man riz up slow, leavin’ the murdered ham layin’ in its gore on the table, an’ sneaked back into the bedroom, an’ crawled in under the quilts, feelin’ smaller’n a cent’s worth o’ soap a’ter a week’s hard washin’. An’, for oncet in her life, Mis’ Leatherbee had sense enough to hold her raspin’ tongue, an’ let her husband go to sleep in peace.”

“Here comes the relief,” said the lieutenant-colonel, as the sentinel at headquarters advanced to meet an approaching knot of men, and sharply challenged, “_Halt! Who’s there?_”

“Whew! then it’s two o’clock,” said Sam, hastily rising. “Who’d have thought it? This aint no sort o’ way for a man o’ my age to be a-keepin’ his roses fresh.”

“Any moral in all that?” asked the adjutant, rising in his turn.

“No; nor nothin’ un-moral, neither,” chuckled the veteran, raising his hand to his cap in parting salute. “Which, in these days, is good guarantee that ’twont never be printed. Wal, good-night to ye.”

WOODLEIGH, Q.M.

Most of us have cause for remembering the hospitalities of The Fourth. The same being an up-country regiment, a visit to it involves a rail journey of three hours and thirty times as many miles; but, in view of what lies at the end of them, the ninety miles and the three hours count as nothing. For in The Fourth they know how to do things properly.

The second battalion of The Fourth sent out cards for a ball, last winter, and a round dozen of them turned up in our mail at headquarters. As a rule, we never allow an invitation from that part of the world to go unheeded; but this time we had to return our really regretful regrets, because a meeting of the council of officers had been ordered for that particular night. It was too bad.

But The Third, if for nothing more than old acquaintance’ sake, had to be represented. And so the colonel, after thoughtfully considering the varied attractions of the staff, sent for the quartermaster--“Woodleigh, Q.M.,” he signs himself, when the paper is an official one--and, after loading him down with his blessing and our compliments to the fellows of the other corps, regretfully saw him start off alone towards the scene of impending festivities. “Woodleigh’s a fine shape of man,” the colonel argued to himself, “and he’ll do for a sample of the rest of us. Besides, what earthly sort of use _are_ quartermasters, except for ornament?” So off went Woodleigh to the ball.

In course of time he came back again, telling strange things about what had happened to him during his absence.

“About that ball?” said he, on a night in the following week, when a half-dozen of us had bunched ourselves before one of old Sam’s master-pieces of fire-building, up in The Battery. “Oh, well, it was a big ball, a broad-and-wide ball, a very large ball indeed. You missed it by not going. The armory was decorated right up to the vanishing-point--out of sight, in fact. There were brass twelve-pounders on each side of the Governor’s box, like signs to call attention to the big guns inside of it; and there were oceans of bunting; and all the regimental colors that The Fourth has had issued to it in the last thirty years; and jungles of palms and other green things; and girls--yes, there were girls, of course.

“There was _one_ girl-- Never mind: that wouldn’t interest you fellows. But perhaps you’d like to hear about the supper. There was a very nourishing supper, so they tell me. I didn’t stay for it, though.”

With our knowledge of the quartermaster’s customary prowess at the banquet table, this last statement seemed to call for farther explanation. We ventured to ask him about it.

“Why did I cut that supper? Well, because I wanted to. Why did I want to? H’m! you’re hot for information, aren’t you? But perhaps I may as well tell you. If I don’t, somebody else will; and if it has to be told, I’d prefer to have it told truthfully.

“It was all on account of that girl--that _one_ girl. I’m not ashamed to admit that it was a case of utter annihilation at first sight. I had hardly stepped out upon the armory floor, when my eye fell on her; and from that instant I knew that, for _me_, there wasn’t another girl in that whole hall--no, nor in the whole wide world. ‘See anybody you’d like to meet?’ says Major Brayton, who had me under his wing. ‘Yes, present me to that stunning girl in yellow,’ says I, like a flash; ‘that girl sitting over there beside the stout woman in black.’ Confound Brayton! he might have warned me. But he didn’t: he only grinned and said ‘Perhaps you’d better get Erwin to take you up. But come along with me, I’ll risk it.’

“Whew! she _was_ a tearing beauty. Big, soft, brown eyes, and a regular cloud of wavy, brown hair to match, and a general effect of having just stepped out of one of Gibson’s drawings. When the major presented me, my heart was thumping like a bass-drum. Fact! Her name? I didn’t quite catch it. But I captured her card, and signed contracts for a waltz, and some sort of country-dance just after it, and another waltz well along towards the end of the list. How did I score her down on _my_ card? Why, I just scratched down ‘D’--which might have stood for most anything.

“Well, we floated through the waltz. It was a treat, for she was a divine dancer, as I’d thought she’d be. When the country-dance came along, I suggested that we’d do well to hunt up some place in the gallery from which we could look down upon it, explaining that I was a little weak in my minor tactics, and really didn’t feel up to getting tangled in any such complicated manœuvres unless I had a book of directions with me. So up to the gallery we went, and I found an ideal corner, all hidden by bunting draperies, and palms and things.

“And there we sat--just we two--in a ready-made paradise of our own, utterly forgetful of the crush of prancing idiots who were toiling away on the floor below us. H’m! I think I must have lost my head completely. I said all sorts of things. As a matter of fact, I can’t begin to remember half what I _did_ say. I only know that finally the music stopped, and she rose with a sigh. ‘Can’t I steal this next dance?’ says I, taking her card from her to see who the lucky man was that had it. ‘No,’ says she softly, ‘I’m afraid that it wouldn’t be possible.’ I glanced at the card, and for the first time noticed that the next dance and fully two-thirds of the others were labelled ‘_J. E._’, in a painfully distinct and careful hand.

“And while I was assimilating this interesting fact, who should come blundering into our little, private paradise but Jack Erwin, first lieutenant of ‘C’, Fourth. You don’t know him? Wish _I_ didn’t! ‘Hello! Woodleigh, old man,’ says he, grabbing my paw. ‘Found you at last. They told me you were doing guard duty for me. Well, I’m waiting to be congratulated.’

“‘I beg pardon, Jack,’ says I; ‘promotion?’ And then he laughed--one of those silly, cheerful, lover’s laughs--and tucked _my_ girl’s slender little hand under his arm. ‘No,’ says he; ‘or, rather, yes. Hadn’t you heard of my engagement?’ And he smiled down on the girl in a way that made me wild to toss him over the balcony railing.

“But I didn’t. I simply pulled myself together as best I could, and shook hands with him, and mumbled something or other to her, and then watched them go strolling off together. And just as they went out of sight behind the palms, I saw her press closer to him, and heard her say, ‘Oh, Jack, dear, I thought you never _would_ come!’

“That’s all I know about the ball. If you’re still thirsting for points on it, I’ll refer you to Whateley, of ‘H’ troop. He was there. Danced all night, I believe, and generally did his duty. Queer boy, Whateley! It made me sorrowful to see him wasting his time in that way, when he might have been putting it in to better advantage. But then, the ‘Yellow-Legs’ are always great on dismounted duty; nothing short of ‘Boots-and-Saddles’ ever rattles a really and truly volunteer trooper.”

Little Poore had wandered over to the bookcase, and was standing before it, thumbing over the pages of the latest adjutant-general’s report. “The first lieutenant of _‘C’, Fourth_, is here put down as one Wilkins,” he said, turning towards us. “I don’t seem to find the name of Erwin anywhere in the register.”

Woodleigh calmly looked over at him, and then addressed the rest of us. “You’ll have to excuse him. He hasn’t been with us long, and doesn’t quite understand my ways,” he explained. “Very likely he thought I’d have the bad taste to lug real names into a personal story of that sort. Come back here, Poore, and sit down. You must learn to save yourself all un-necessary trouble.” Poore put away his book, and returned to his place in the family circle.

“Care to hear anything more about my adventures, up there with The Fourth?” inquired Woodleigh, rising and taking up a more congenial position, with his back to the crackling fire. “Because, if you do, there was another odd thing that happened that evening. After my heart had been broken, in the way that I’ve told you, Tileson, the Q.M. of The Fourth, ran up against me. He noticed that I wasn’t quite in gear. ‘You’re looking faint,’ says he. ‘Come along with me, and I’ll see if something can’t be done for you. This ball business is all childish folly.’ Tileson, you know, isn’t a dancing man.

“Well, he took me away from the armory, and over to the club--you fellows remember that club they have up there?--and we played billiards and other games for a while. Tileson also fixed me up with restoratives until I felt quite like myself again; for he ranks high as a scientific quartermaster. Finally we sat down to smoke, and while we were smoking we got to talking shop.

“I don’t remember just what led up to it, but we drifted along from one thing to another until we got into a discussion on athletics. Well, you know how it goes: Tileson began to yarn about what he used to do in that line, when he was younger; and that, of course, started me into recalling certain feats of my own long-gone youth; and so we had it, back and forth, until Tileson ended up by wanting to make some fool-bet or other. And right at that point I conceived an idea.

“You see, it was growing late, and I found that I was becoming sleepier than a stewed owl. Besides, that club was full of men, and thick with smoke; and I wanted to get away from the confounded noise and chatter. I’d engaged a room at the hotel, and had left my bag there; for I’d made my plans to stay in town all night--but, as I said, I was attacked by an idea.

“‘Tileson,’ says I, after the idea in all its beauty had paraded itself before my mind’s eye, ‘I’m not a betting man. And least of all will I bet money. Playing for money invariably leads to hard feelings. His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Germany, and likewise I, Woodleigh, Q.M. of The Third, frown down upon all gambling among officers, both of us holding that it is detrimental to the best interests of the service. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do for your amusement: I’ll make you a wager of a small dinner. _That’s_ not gambling, because we both have to eat dinner, every day in the week, for which somebody has to pay. Am I correct?’

“Tileson had to admit that a daily dinner was of the nature of a necessity, and that it wouldn’t be gambling to risk one. So I proceeded to spread out the details of my proposition. ‘It is a bright, moon-lighted night,’ says I, after taking a peek at my watch for certain reasons of my own; ‘there’s no snow on the ground, and there’s not a breath of wind: therefore a paper trail would lie beautifully--which is something that I personally can’t do. Why wouldn’t it be an educated scheme to arrange a hare-and-hounds chase, as a means of settling this speed question?’

“This seemed to strike Tileson as a grand thought, and so I went right along with my remarks. ‘Of course,’ says I, ‘I’ll be handicapped by not knowing the country, but I’m reasonably certain that I can start out from this club with two minutes lee-way, and lead you a chase for forty-five minutes, without being caught. I’ll carry a basketful of paper, and drop a handful of it, every twenty yards, as long as it lasts. I’ll also agree not to enter any house or building during that three-quarters of an hour; my time shall be entirely devoted to going cross-country. Moreover, after leaving the club, and making one turn, I’ll lay my course in a crow-line--I mean, as the bee flies--for a distance of at least a half-mile, thereby giving you a chance to run me down by a straightaway sprint. Now, what do you say?’