acities of his superiors and equals. "If I could drink like
Kirby or Crowninshield, or if there was any other cursed thing a man
could do in this hole," he had wretchedly repeated to himself, after
each misspent occasion, and yet already he was looking forward to them
as part of a 'sub's' duty and worthy his emulation. Already the dream
of social recreation fostered by West Point had been rudely dispelled.
Beyond the garrison circle of Colonel Preston's family and two
officers' wives, there was no society. The vague distrust and civil
jealousy with which some frontier communities regard the Federal power,
heightened in this instance by the uncompromising attitude the
Government had taken towards the settlers' severe Indian policy, had
kept the people of Logport aloof from the Fort. The regimental band
might pipe to them on Saturdays, but they would not dance.

Howbeit, Lieutenant Calvert dressed himself with uncertain hands but
mechanical regularity and neatness, and, under the automatic training
of discipline and duty, managed to button his tunic tightly over his
feelings, to pull himself together with his sword-belt, compressing a
still cadet-like waist, and to present that indescribable combination
of precision and jauntiness which his brother officers too often
allowed to lapse into frontier carelessness. His closely clipped light
hair, yet dripping from a plunge in the cold water, had been brushed
and parted with military exactitude, and when surmounted by his cap,
with the peak in an artful suggestion of extra smartness tipped forward
over his eyes, only his pale face--a shade lighter than his little
blonde moustache--showed his last night's excesses. He was
mechanically reaching for his sword and staring confusedly at the
papers on his table when his servant interrupted:

"Major Bromley arranged that Lieutenant Kirby takes your sash this
morning, as you're not well, sir; and you're to report for special to
the colonel," he added, pointing discreetly to the envelope.

Touched by this consideration of his superior, Major Bromley, who had
been one of the veterans of last night's engagement, Calvert mastered
the contents of the envelope without the customary anathema of
specials, said, "Thank you, Parks," and passed out on the veranda.

The glare of the quiet sunlit quadrangle, clean as a well-swept floor,
the whitewashed walls and galleries of the barrack buildings beyond,
the white and green palisade of offi