n, and surprised that young man mightily by saying that he
never smoked. This surprise, it is to be feared, deepened into disgust
when, a few moments later, he declined a drink from Hopeton's whisky
bottle, which a servant brought him.

Liquors were not provided at the mess, but officers were permitted to
order what they desired.

As the bottles circulated, tongues were loosened. There was nothing foul
in the talk, but more and more profanity, with frequent apology to the
chaplain, began to decorate the conversation. Conscious of a deepening
disgust with his environment, and of an overwhelming sense of isolation,
Barry cast vainly about for a means of escape. Of military etiquette he
was ignorant; hence he could only wait in deepening disgust for the
O. C. to give the signal to rise. How long he could have endured is
doubtful, but release came in a startling, and, to most of the members
of the mess, a truly horrifying manner.

In one of those strange silences that fall upon even the noisiest of
companies, Colonel Leighton, under the influence of a somewhat liberal
indulgence in his whisky bottle, began the relation of a tale of very
doubtful flavour. In the midst of the laughter that followed the tale,
Barry rose to his feet, his face white and his eyes aflame, and in a
voice vibrating with passion, said:

"May I be excused, sir?"

"Why, certainly," said the colonel pleasantly, adding after a moment's
hesitation, "is there anything wrong, Dunbar? Are you ill?"

"No, sir." Barry's voice had the resonant quality of a cello string.
"I mean, yes, sir," he corrected. "I am ill. The atmosphere surrounding
such a tale is nauseating to me."

In the horrified silence that followed his remark, he walked out from
the room. Upon his ears, as he stood in the ante-room, trembling with
the violence of his passion, a burst of laughter fell. A sudden wrath
like a hot flame swept his body. He wheeled in his tracks, tore open the
door, and with head high and face set, strode to his place at the table
and sat down.

Astonishment beyond all words held the company in tense stillness. From
Barry's face they looked toward the colonel, who, too dumfounded for
speech or action, sat gazing at his chaplain. Then from the end of the
table a few places down from Barry, a voice was heard.

"Feel better, Dunbar?" The cool, clear voice cut through the tense
silence like the zip of a sword.

"I do, thank you, sir," looking him straight in th