up river, and meantime. I'm trying to show him what I
can of our service."

"So good of you to bring Captain Orme here, Major. I'm sure he will join
us to-night?" Kitty motioned toward the dancing pavilion, now well under
way. Orme smiled and bowed, and declared himself most happy. Thus in a
few moments he was of our party. I could not avoid the feeling that it
was some strange fate which continually brought us two together.

"The Army's rotten for want of service," grumbled Williams, following
out his own pet hobby. "Nothing in the world to do for our fellows here.
Sport? Why, Captain Orme, we couldn't show you a horse race where I'd
advise you to bet a dollar. The fishing doesn't carry, and the shooting
is pretty much gone, even if it were the season. Outside of a pigeon
match or so, this Post is stagnant. We dance, and that's all. Bah!"

"Why, Major, you old ingrate," reproved Kitty Stevenson. "If you talk
that way we'll not let you on the floor to-night."

"You spoke of pigeon shooting," said Orme lazily, "Blue rocks, I
imagine?"

"No," said Williams, "Natives--we use the wild birds. Thousands of them
around here, you know. Ever do anything at it?"

"Not in this country," replied Orme. "Sometimes I have taken on a match
at Hurlingham; and we found the Egyptian pigeons around Cairo not bad."

"Would you like to have a little match at our birds?"

"I shouldn't mind."

"Oh, you'll be welcome! We'll take your money away from you. There is
Bardine--or say, Major Westover. Haskins of the Sixth got eighty-five
out of his last hundred. Once he made it ninety-two, but that's above
average, of course."

"You interest me," said Orme, still lazily. "For the honor of my country
I shouldn't mind a go with one of your gentlemen. Make it at a hundred,
for what wagers you like."

"And when?"

"To-morrow afternoon, if you say; I'm not stopping long, I am afraid.
I'm off up river soon."

"Let's see," mused Williams. "Haskins is away, and I doubt if Westover
could come, for he's Officer of the Day, also bottle-washer. And--"

"How about my friend Mr. Cowles?" asked Orme. "My acquaintance with him
makes me think he'd take on any sort of sporting proposition. Do you
shoot, sir?"

"All Virginians do," I answered. And so I did in the field, although I
had never shot or seen a pigeon match in all my life.

"Precisely. Mrs. Stevenson, will you allow this sort of talk?"

"Go on, go on," said Kitty. "I'll have something u