rters, and came away with
grave and troubled face, to a ten-minutes conference with his gentle
wife that left her sorely worried and distressed.

"Ask Kate," he said, as once more he set forth into the night. "I've got
to tramp and think this over before I do anything further." And at that
moment Kate and Miriam had gone in to talk awhile with Mrs. Stannard. It
was best they should not stay home, subject to incessant interview.

It was just about quarter of nine. The lights at the office were still
burning, for the colonel had intimated that he might be back. Barker was
bending over some of the post papers and reports at his desk, and
wondering why on earth the colonel should be colloguing with Snaffle,
Crane, Sergeant Fitzroy, and sending for Cassidy and Quinlan. That was a
queer "outfit" of Snaffle's at best. It seemed odd that the most
pronounced "Britisher" in barracks, outside of the band, should be a
sergeant in the troop commanded by the nearest thing to an Irishman
among the captains. True, Fitzroy as stable sergeant was quite
independent, and, being very ambitious and zealous, had attracted the
attention of other captains, to wit, Canker and Curbit, rival troop
leaders, who each, at one time or other, had offered to make Fitzroy
first sergeant if he would transfer; but Fitzroy preferred to stay where
he was in "C," and it was easier to suggest than it was to assert the
real reason.

Barker was busy with these reflections when the colonel once more
entered and began pacing moodily up and down the room. The adjutant
rose, but at a signal resumed his seat and waited. He was, as he
whimsically described himself, "a relic of the previous administration."
In those days officers might serve long years on the staff and never
know an hour of company duty. Barker had been in the adjutant's office
under three different regimental commanders, and, as etiquette required,
had tendered his resignation to Button on that officer's promotion to
the colonelcy. Button as promptly and courteously replied that he hoped
Lieutenant Barker would consent to serve as right-hand man until he
reached his captaincy, which could not be very far off. But already
Button was repenting. "Barker is too much wedded to the old order of
things," said he. "Barker has his likes and dislikes" (a weakness the
colonel denied to himself), "and Barker's a little inclined to imagine
that nobody can run a regiment as Atherton did"--for which, at last,
the