ing, with a torturing slowness
finding candidates to whom they whispered. The chosen ran to the orderly
room, entered there, according to instructions, or else formed a long
line outside the window where sat the supreme arbiter, the giver, in a
way of life and death, the young fellow from West Point.

Men patted George on the back.

"You'll go among the first, George."

But he didn't. He paced up and down, watching the many who waited for
the whisper which was withheld, waited until they knew it wouldn't
come, expressed then in their faces thoughts blacker than the closing
night, entered at last into the gloomy barracks where they sat on their
bunks silently and with bowed heads.

Was that fate, through some miracle of mismanagement, reserved for him?
It couldn't be. The fellow had seen him at the start. George had forced
himself to get along with him, to impress him. Somebody touched George
on the arm. A curiously intense whisper filled his ear.

"You're wanted in the orderly room, Morton."

In leaving the defeated he had an impression of a difficult and
sorrowful severance.

In the orderly room too many men rubbed shoulders restlessly. A relieved
sigh went up. It was as if everyone had known nothing vital could occur
before his arrival. The young West Pointer was making the most of his
moment. The war wasn't likely to bring him another half so great.

Washington, he announced, had cut down the number of higher commissions
he had asked for.

George's name was read among the first.

"To be captain of infantry, United States Reserve--George Morton."

There was something very like affection in the West Pointer's voice.

"I recommended you for a majority, Mr. Morton. Stick to the job as you
have here, and it will come along."

Lambert and Goodhue found him as he crowded with the rest through the
little door. They had kept their captaincies. Even Goodhue released a
little of his relief at the outcome.

"Any number busted--no time to find out whether they were good or bad."

The dark, hot, sandy street was full of shadowy figures, calling,
shouting, laughing neurotically.

"Good fellow, but I had you on my list." "My Lord! I never expected more
than a private in the rear rank." "What do you think of Blank? Lost out
entirely." "Rotten deal." "Not the only one by several dozens." "Hear
about Doe? Wouldn't have picked him for a shave tail. Got a captaincy.
Teacher's pet."

Brutally someone had turned on the