For twenty-four hours old Brax had been mad as a hornet. He was not much
of a drillmaster or tactician, but he thought he was, and it delighted
him to put his battalion through the form of review, the commands for
which he had memorized thoroughly and delivered with resonant voice and
with all proper emphasis. What he did not fancy, and indeed could not
do, was the drudge-work of teaching the minutiæ of the school of the
battalion, explaining each movement before undertaking its execution.
This was a matter he delegated to one of his senior captains. For a
week, therefore, in preparation for a possible visit on the part of the
new brigadier-general or his inspector, the six companies of the
regiment stationed at the post had been fairly well schooled in the
ceremonies of review and parade, and so long as nothing more was
required of them than a march past in quick time and a ten minutes'
stand in line all might go well. The general had unexpectedly appeared
one evening with only a single aide-de-camp, simply, as he explained, to
return the calls of the officers of the garrison, six or eight of whom
had known enough to present themselves and pay their respects in person
when he arrived in town. Braxton swelled with gratified pride at the
general's praise of the spick-span condition of the parade, the walks,
roads, and visible quarters. But it was the very first old-time garrison
the new chief had ever seen, a splendid fighting record with the
volunteers during the war, and the advantage of taking sides for the
Union from a doubtful State, having conspired to win him a star in the
regular service only a year or two before.
"We would have had out the battery and given you a salute, sir," said
Brax, "had we known you were coming; but it's after retreat now. Next
time, general, if you'll ride down some day, I'll be proud to give you a
review of the whole command. We have a great big field back here."
And the general had promised to come. This necessitated combined
preparation, hence the order for full-dress rehearsal with battery and
all, and then came confusion. Fresh from the command of his beautiful
horse-battery and the dashing service with a cavalry division, Cram
hated the idea of limping along, as he expressed it, behind a battalion
of foot, and said so, and somebody told Brax he had said so,--more than
one somebody, probably, for Brax had many an adviser to help keep him in
trouble. The order that Cram should appear for instruction in review of
infantry and artillery combined gave umbrage to the battery commander,
and his reported remarks thereupon, renewed cause for displeasure to his
garrison chief.
"So far as we're concerned," said Cram, who wanted to utilize the good
weather for battery drill, "we need no instruction, as we have done the
trick time and again before; and if we hadn't, who in the bloody
Fifty-First is there to teach us? Certainly not old Brax."
All the same the order was obeyed, and Cram started out that loveliest
of lovely spring mornings not entirely innocent of the conviction that
he and his fellows were going to have some fun out of the thing before
they got through with it. Not that he purposed putting any hitch or
impediment in the way. He meant to do just exactly as he was bid; and
so, when adjutant's call had sounded and the blue lines of the infantry
were well out on the field, he followed in glittering column of pieces,
his satin-coated horses dancing in sheer exuberance of spirits and his
red-crested cannoneers sitting with folded arms, erect and statuesque,
upon the ammunition-chests. Mrs. Cram, in her pretty basket phaeton,
with Mrs. Lawrence, of the infantry, and several of the ladies of the
garrison in ambulances or afoot, had taken station well to the front of
the forming line. Then it became apparent that old Brax purposed to
figure as the reviewing officer and had delegated Major Minor to command
the troops. Now, Minor had been on mustering and disbursing duty most of
the war, had never figured in a review with artillery before, and knew
no more about battery tactics than Cram did of diplomacy. Mounted on a
sedate old sorrel, borrowed from the quartermaster for the occasion,
with an antiquated, brass-bound Jenifer saddle, minus breast-strap and
housings of any kind, but equipped with his better half's brown leather
bridle, Minor knew perfectly well he was only a guy, and felt indignant
at Brax for putting him in so false a plight. He took his station,
however, in front of the regimental colors, without stopping to think
where the centre of the line might be after the battery came, and there
awaited further developments. Cram kept nobody waiting, however: his
leading team was close at the nimble heels of Captain Lawrence's company
as it marched gayly forth to the music of the band. He formed sections
at the trot the instant the ground was clear, then wheeled into line,
passed well to the rear of the prolongation of the infantry rank, and by
a beautiful countermarch came up to the front and halted exactly at the
instant that Lawrence, with the left flank company, reached his post,
each caisson accurately in trace of its piece, each team and carriage
exactly at its proper interval, and with his crimson silk guidon on the
right flank and little Pierce signalling "up" or "back" from a point
outside where he could verify the alignment of the gun-wheels on the
rank of the infantry, Cram was able to command "front" before little
Drake, the adjutant, should have piped out his shrill "Guides posts."
But Drake didn't pipe. There stood all the companies at support, each
captain at the inner flank, and the guides with their inverted muskets
still stolidly gazing along the line. It was time for him to pipe, but,
instead of so doing, there he stuck at the extreme right, glaring down
towards the now immovable battery and its serene commander, and the
little adjutant's face was getting redder and puffier every minute.
"Go ahead! What are you waiting for?" hoarsely whispered the senior
captain.
"Waiting for the battery to dress," was the stanch reply. Then aloud the
shrill voice swept down the line: "Dress that battery to the right!"
Cram looked over a glittering shoulder to the right of the line, where
stood the diminutive infantryman. The battery had still its war
allowance of horses, three teams to each carriage, lead, swing, and
wheel, and that brought its captain far out to the front of the sombre
blue rank of foot,--so far out, in fact, that he was about on line with
Major Minor, though facing in opposite direction. Perfectly confident
that he was exactly where he should be, yet equally determined to abide
by any order he might receive, even though he fully understood the cause
of Drake's delay, Cram promptly rode over to the guidon and ordered
"Right dress," at which every driver's head and eyes were promptly
turned, but not an inch of a wheel, for the alignment simply could not
be improved. Then after commanding "front" the captain as deliberately
trotted back to his post without so much as a glance at the irate staff
officer. It was just at this juncture that the bay colt came tearing
down the field, his mane and tail streaming in the breeze, his reins and
stirrups dangling. In the course of his gyrations about the battery and
the sympathetic plunging of the teams some slight disarrangement
occurred. But when he presently decided on a rush for the stables, the
captain re-established the alignment as coolly as before, and only
noticed as he resumed his post that the basket phaeton and Mrs. Cram had
gone. Alarmed, possibly, by the non-appearance of her warm friend Mr.
Waring and the excited gambolings of his vagrant steed, she had promptly
driven back to the main garrison to see if any accident had occurred,
the colt meantime amusing himself in a game of fast-and-loose with the
stable guard.
Then it was that old Brax came down and took a hand. Riding to where
Minor still sat on his patient sorrel, the senior bluntly inquired,--
"What the devil's the matter?"
"I don't know," said Minor.
"Who does know?"
"Well, Drake, possibly, or else he doesn't know anything. He's been
trying to get Cram to dress his battery back."
"Why, yes, confound it! he's a mile ahead of the line," said the
colonel, and off he trotted to expostulate with the batteryman. "Captain
Cram, isn't there room for your battery back of the line instead of in
front of it?" inquired the chief, in tone both aggrieved and aggressive.
"Lots, sir," answered Cram, cheerfully. "Just countermarched there."
"Then I wish you'd oblige me by moving back at once, sir: you're
delaying the whole ceremony here. I'm told Mr. Drake has twice ordered
you to dress to the right."
"I've heard it, sir, only once, but have dressed twice, so it's all
right," responded Cram, as affably as though he had no other aim in life
than to gratify the whims of his post commander.
"Why, confound it, sir, it isn't all right by a da---- good deal! Here
you are 'way out on line with Major Minor, and your battery's---- why,
it isn't dressed on our rank at all, sir. Just look at it."
Cram resumed the carry with the sabre he had lowered in salute, calmly
reversed so as to face his battery, and, with preternatural gravity of
mien, looked along his front. There midway between his lead drivers sat
Mr. Doyle, his face well-nigh as red as his plume, his bleary eyes
nearly popping out of his skull in his effort to repress the emotions
excited by this colloquy. There midway between the lead drivers in the
left section sat Mr. Ferry, gazing straight to the front over the
erected ears of his handsome bay and doing his very best to keep a
solemn face, though the unshaded corners of his boyish mouth were
twitching with mischief and merriment. There, silent, disciplined, and
rigid, sat the sergeants, drivers, and cannoneers of famous old Light
Battery "X," all agog with interest in the proceedings and all looking
as though they never heard a word.
"I declare, sir," said Cram, with exasperating civility, "I can see
nothing out of the way. Will you kindly indicate what is amiss?"
This was too much for Ferry. In his effort to restrain his merriment
and gulp down a rising flood of laughter there was heard an explosion
that sounded something like the sudden collapse of an inflated paper
bag, and old Brax, glaring angrily at the boy, now red in the face with
mingled mirth and consternation, caught sudden idea from the sight. Was
the battery laughing at--was the battery commander guying--him? Was it
possible that they were profiting by his ignorance of their regulations?
It put him on his guard and suggested a tentative.
"Do you mean that you are right in being so far ahead of our line
instead of dressed upon it?" asked he of the big blond soldier in the
glittering uniform. "Where do you find authority for it?"
"Oh, perfectly right, colonel. In fact, for six years past I've never
seen it done any other way. You'll find the authority on page 562, Field
Artillery Tactics of 1864."
For a moment Brax was dumb; he had long heard of Cram as an expert in
his own branch of the service; but presently he burst forth:
"Well, in _our_ tactics there's reason for every blessed thing we do,
but I'll be dinged if I can see rhyme or reason in such a formation as
that. Why, sir, your one company takes up more room than my six,--makes
twice as much of a show. Of course if a combined review is to show off
the artillery it's all very well. However, go ahead, if you think you're
right, sir; go ahead! I'll inquire into this later."
"I know we're right, colonel; and as for the reason, you'll see it when
you open ranks for review and we come to 'action front:' then our line
will be exactly that of the infantry. Meantime, sir, it isn't for us to
go ahead. We've gone as far as we can until your adjutant makes the next
move."
But Braxton had ridden away disgusted before Cram wound up his remarks.
"Go on, Major Minor; just run this thing without reference to the
battery. Damned if I understand their methods. Let Cram look after his
own affairs; if he goes wrong, why--it's none of our concern."
And so Minor had nodded "Go ahead" to Mr. Drake, and presently the whole
command made its bow, so to speak, to Minor as its immediate chief, and
then he drew sword and his untried voice became faintly audible. The
orders "Prepare for review" and "To the rear open order" were instantly
followed by a stentorian "Action front" down at the left, the instant
leap and rush of some thirty nimble cannoneers, shouts of "Drive on!"
the cracking of whips, the thunder and rumble of wheels, the thud of
plunging hoofs. Forty-eight mettlesome horses in teams of two abreast
went dancing briskly away to the rear, at sight of which Minor dropped
his jaw and the point of his sword and sat gazing blankly after them,
over the bowed head of his placid sorrel, wondering what on earth it
meant that they should all be running away at the very instant when he
expected them to brace up for review. But before he could give utterance
to his thoughts eight glossy teams in almost simultaneous sweep to the
left about came sharply around again. The black muzzles of the guns were
pointed to the front, every axle exactly in the prolongation of his
front rank, every little group of red-topped, red-trimmed cannoneers
standing erect and square, the chiefs of section and of pieces sitting
like statues on their handsome horses, the line of limbers accurately
covering the guns, and, still farther back, Mr. Pierce could be heard
shouting his orders for the alignment of the caissons. In the twinkling
of an eye the rush and thunder were stilled, the battery without the
twitch of a muscle stood ready for review, and old Brax, sitting in
saddle at the reviewing point, watching the stirring sight with gloomy
and cynical eye, was chafed still more to hear in a silvery voice from
the group of ladies the unwelcome words, "Oh, wasn't that pretty!" He
meant with all his heart to pull in some of the plumage of those
confounded "woodpeckers," as he called them, before the day was over.
In grim silence, therefore, he rode along the front of the battalion,
taking little comfort in the neatness of their quaint old-fashioned
garb, the single-breasted, long-skirted frock-coats, the bulging black
felt hats looped up on one side and decked with skimpy black feather,
the glistening shoulder-scales and circular breastplates, the polish of
their black leather belts, cartridge- and cap-boxes and
bayonet-scabbards. It was all trim and soldierly, but he was bottling up
his sense of annoyance for the benefit of Cram and his people. Yet what
could he say? Neither he nor Minor had ever before been brought into
such relations with the light artillery, and he simply didn't know where
to hit. Lots of things looked queer, but after this initial experience
he felt it best to say nothing until he could light on a point that no
one could gainsay, and he found it in front of the left section.
"Where is Mr. Waring, sir?" he sternly asked.
"I wish I knew, colonel. His horse came back without him, as you
doubtless saw, and, as he hasn't appeared, I'm afraid of accident."
"How did he come to leave his post, sir? I have no recollection of
authorizing anything of the kind."
"Certainly not, colonel. He rode back to his quarters with my consent
before adjutant's call had sounded, and he should have been with us
again in abundant time."
"That young gentleman needs more discipline than he is apt to receive at
this rate, Captain Cram, and I desire that you pay closer attention to
his movements than you have done in the past.--Mr. Drake," he said to
his adjutant, who was tripping around after his chief afoot, "call on
Mr. Waring to explain his absence in writing and without delay.--This
indifference to duty is something to which I am utterly unaccustomed,"
continued Braxton, again addressing Cram, who preserved a most
uncompromising serenity of countenance; and with this parting shot the
colonel turned gruffly away and soon retook his station at the reviewing
point.
Then came the second hitch. Minor had had no experience whatever, as has
been said, and he first tried to wheel into column of companies without
closing ranks, whereupon every captain promptly cautioned "Stand fast,"
and thereby banished the last remnant of Minor's senses. Seeing that
something was wrong, he tried again, this time prefacing with "Pass in
review," and still the captains were implacable. The nearest one, in a
stage whisper, tried to make the major hear "Close order, first." But
all the time Brax was losing more of his temper and Minor what was left
of his head, and Brax came down like the wolf on the fold, gave the
command to "Close order" himself, and was instantly echoed by Cram's
powerful shout "Limber to the rear," followed by "Pieces left about!
Caissons forward!" Then in the rumble and clank of the responding
battery, Minor's next command was heard by only the right wing of the
battalion, and the company wheels were ragged. So was the next part of
the performance when he started to march in review, never waiting, of
course, for the battery to wheel into column of sections. This omission,
however, in no wise disconcerted Cram, who, following at rapid walk,
soon gained on the rear of column, passing his post commander in
beautiful order and with most accurate salute on the part of himself and
officers, and, observing this, Minor took heart, and, recovering his
senses to a certain extent, gave the command "Guide left" in abundant
time to see that the new guides were accurately in trace, thereby
insuring what he expected to find a beautiful wheel into line to the
left, the commands for which movement he gave in louder and more
confident tone, but was instantly nonplussed by seeing the battery wheel
into line to the _right_ and move off in exactly the opposite direction
from what he had expected. This was altogether too much for his
equanimity. Digging his spurs into the flanks of the astonished sorrel,
he darted off after Cram, waving his sword, and shouting,--
"_Left_ into line wheel, captain. _Left_ into line wheel."
In vain Mr. Pierce undertook to explain matters. Minor presumed that
the artilleryman had made an actual blunder and was only enabled to
correct it by a countermarch, and so rode back to his position in front
of the centre of the reforming line, convinced that at last he had
caught the battery commander.
When Braxton, therefore, came down to make his criticisms and comments
upon the conduct of the review, Minor was simply amazed to find that
instead of being in error Cram had gone exactly right and as prescribed
by his drill regulations in wheeling to the right and gaining ground to
the rear before coming up on the line. He almost peevishly declared that
he wished the colonel, if he proposed having a combined review, would
assume command himself, as he didn't care to be bothered with
combination tactics of which he had never had previous knowledge. Being
of the same opinion, Braxton himself took hold, and the next
performance, though somewhat erroneous in many respects, was a slight
improvement on the first, though Braxton did not give time for the
battery to complete one movement before he would rush it into another.
When the officers assembled to compare notes during the rest after the
second repetition, Minor growled that this was "a little better, yet not
good," which led to some one suggesting in low tone that the major got
his positives and comparatives worse mixed than his tactics, and
inquiring further "whether it might not be well to dub him Minor Major."
The laughter that followed this sally naturally reached the ears of the
seniors, and so Brax never let up on the command until the review went
off without an error of any appreciable weight, without, in fact, "a
hitch in the fut or an unhitch in the harse," as Doyle expressed it. It
was high noon when the battalion got back to barracks and the officers
hung out their moist clothing to dry in the sun. It was near one when
the battery men, officers and all, came steaming up from the stables,
and there was the colonel's orderly with the colonel's compliments and
desires to see Captain Cram before the big battery man had time to
change his dress.
Braxton's first performance on getting into cool habiliments was to go
over to his office and hunt through the book-shelves for a volume in
which he never before had felt the faintest interest,--the Light
Artillery Tactics of 1864. There on his desk lay a stack of mail
unopened, and Mr. Drake was already silently inditing the summary note
to the culprit Waring. Brax wanted first to see with his own eyes the
instructions for light artillery when reviewed with other troops,
vaguely hoping that there might still he some point on which to catch
his foeman on the hip. But if there were he did not find it. He was
tactician enough to see that even if Cram had formed with his leading
drivers on line with the infantry, as Braxton thought he should have
done, neither of the two methods of forming into battery would then have
got his guns where they belonged. Cram's interpretation of the text was
backed by the custom of service, and there was no use criticising it
further. And so, after discontentedly hunting through the dust-covered
pages awhile in hopes of stumbling on some codicil or rebuttal, the
colonel shut it with a disgusted snap and tossed the offending tome on
the farthest table. At that moment Brax could have wished the board of
officers who prepared the Light Artillery Tactics in the nethermost
depths of the neighboring swamp. Then he turned on his silent staff
officer,--a not unusual expedient.
"Why on earth, Mr. Drake, didn't you look up that point, instead of
making such a break before the whole command?"
"I couldn't find anything about it in Casey, sir, anywhere," replied the
perturbed young man. "I didn't know where else to look."
"Well, you might have asked Mr. Ferry or Mr. Pierce. The Lord knows you
waste enough time with 'em."
"_You_ might have asked Captain Cram," was what Drake wanted to say, but
wisely did not. He bit the end of his penholder instead, and bridled his
tongue and temper.
"The next time I have a review with a mounted battery, by George!" said
the post commander, finally, bringing his fist down on the table with a
crash, "I just--won't have it."
He had brought down the pile of letters as well as his fist, and Drake
sprang to gather them, replacing them on the desk and dexterously
slipping a paper-cutter under the flap of each envelope as he did so. At
the very first note he opened, Brax threw himself back in his chair with
a long whistle of mingled amazement and concern, then turned suddenly on
his adjutant.
"What became of Mr. Waring? He wasn't hurt?"
"Not a bit, sir, that I know of. He drove to town with Captain Cram's
team,--at least I was told so,--and left that note for you there, sir."
"He did!--left the post and left a note for me? Why!----" But here
Braxton broke off short, tore open the note, and read:
"MY DEAR COLONEL,--I trust you will overlook the informality of my going
to town without previously consulting you. I had purposed, of course,
asking your permission, but the mishap that befell me in the runaway of
my horse prevented my appearance at the review, and had I waited your
return from the field it would have compelled me to break my engagement
with our friends the Allertons. Under the circumstances I felt sure of
your complaisance.
"As I hope to drive Miss Allerton down after the _matinée_, might it not
be a good idea to have dress-parade and the band out? They have seen the
battery drills, but are much more desirous of seeing the infantry.
"Most sincerely yours,
"S. G. WARING."
"Well, for consummate impudence this beats the Jews!" exclaimed Brax.
"Orderly, my compliments to Captain Cram, and say I wish to see him at
once, if he's back from stables."
Now, as has been said, Cram had had no time to change to undress
uniform, but Mrs. Cram had received the orderly's message, had informed
that martial Mercury that the captain was not yet back from stables, and
that she would tell him at once on his return. Well she knew that
mischief was brewing, and her woman's wit was already enlisted in behalf
of her friend. Hurriedly pencilling a note, she sent a messenger to her
liege, still busy with his horses, to bid him come to her, if only for a
moment, on his way to the office. And when he came, heated, tired, but
bubbling over with eagerness to tell her of the fun they had been having
with Brax, she met him with a cool tankard of "shandygaff," which he had
learned to like in England among the horse-artillery fellows, and
declared the very prince of drinks after active exercise in hot weather.
He quaffed it eagerly, flung off his shako and kissed her gratefully,
and burst all at once into laughing narration of the morning's work, but
she checked him:
"Ned, dear, don't stop for that yet. I know you're too full of tact to
let Colonel Braxton see it was any fun for you, and he's waiting at the
office. Something tells me it's about Mr. Waring. Now put yourself in
Mr. Waring's place. Of course he ought never to have made that
engagement until he had consulted you, but he never dreamed that there
would be a review to-day, and so he invited the Allertons to breakfast
with him at Moreau's and go to the _matinée_."
"Why, that rascal Ananias said it was to breakfast at the general's,"
interrupted the battery commander.
"Well, perhaps he was invited there too. I believe I did hear something
of that. But he had made this arrangement with the Allertons. Now, of
course, if review were over at ten he could just about have time to
dress and catch the eleven-o'clock car, but that would make it very
late, and when Bay Billy broke away from Ananias nobody could catch him
for over half an hour. Mr. Ferry had taken the section, Mr. Waring
wasn't needed, and---- Why, Ned, when I drove in, fearing to
find him injured, and saw him standing there the picture of
consternation and despair, and he told me about his engagement, I said
myself, 'Why don't you go now?' I told him it was what you surely would
say if you were here. Neither of us thought the colonel would object, so
long as you approved, and he wrote such a nice note. Why, Ned, he only
just had time to change his dress and drive up with Jeffers----"
"With Jeffers? With my--er--our team and wagon? Well, I like----"
"Of course you like it, you old darling. She's such a dear girl, though
just a little bit gushing, you know. Why, I said, certainly the team
should go. But, Ned, here's what I'm afraid of. Mrs. Braxton saw it
drive in at nine-thirty, just after Billy ran away, and she asked
Jeffers who was going, and he told her Mr. Waring, and she has told the
colonel, I'll wager. Now, what you have got to do is to explain that to
him, so that he won't blame Mr. Waring."
"The dickens I have! The most barefaced piece of impudence even Sam
Waring was ever guilty of--to me, at least, though I've no doubt he's
done worse a dozen times. Why, bless your heart, Nell, how can I
explain? You might, but----"
"But would you have me suppose my big soldier couldn't handle that
matter as well as I? No, sir! Go and do it, sir. And, mind you, I'm
going to invite them all up here to the gallery to hear the band play
and have a cup of tea and a nibble when they come down this evening.
He's going to drive the Allertons here."
"Worse and more of it! Why, you conspiracy in petticoats, you'll be the
ruin of me! Old Brax is boiling over now. If he dreams that Waring has
been taking liberties with him he'll fetch him up so short----"
"Exactly! You mustn't let him. You must tell him I sent him up with your
team--yours, mind you--to keep his engagement, since it was impossible
for him to come back to review ground. Of course he wouldn't expect him
to appear afoot."
"Don't know about that, Nell. I reckon that's the way he'll order out
the whole gang of us next time. He's had his fill of mounted work
to-day."
"Well, if he should, you be sure to acquiesce gracefully now. Whatsoever
you do, don't let him put Mr. Waring in arrest while Gwen Allerton is
here. It would spoil--everything."
"Oh, match-making, is it? Then I'll try." And so, vexed, but laughing,
half indignant, yet wholly subordinate to the whim of his beloved better
half, the captain hastened over, and found Colonel Braxton sitting with
gloomy brow at his littered desk, his annoyance of the morning evidently
forgotten in matters more serious.
"Oh--er--Cram, come in, come in, man," said he, distractedly. "Here's a
matter I want to see you about. It's--well, just take that letter and
read. Sit down, sit down. Read, and tell me what we ought to do about
it."
And as Cram's blue eyes wandered over the written page they began to
dilate. He read from start to finish, and then dropped his head into his
hand, his elbow on his knee, his face full of perplexity and concern.
"What do you think of it? Is there any truth----" and the colonel
hesitated.
"As to their being seen together, perhaps. As to the other,--the
challenge,--I don't believe it."
"Well, Cram, this is the second or third letter that has come to me in
the same hand. Now, you must see to it that he returns and doesn't quit
the post until this matter is arranged."
"I'll attend to it, sir," was the answer.
And so that evening, while Waring was slowly driving his friends about
the shaded roads under the glistening white pillars of the rows of
officers' quarters, chatting joyously with them and describing the
objects so strange to their eyes, Mrs. Cram's "little foot-page" came to
beg that they should alight a few minutes and take a cup of tea. They
could not. The Allertons were engaged, and it was necessary to drive
back at once to town, but they stopped for a moment to chat with their
pretty hostess under the gallery, and then a moment later, as they
rolled out of the resounding sally-port, an orderly ran up, saluted, and
slipped a note in Waring's hand.
"It is immediate, sir," was his explanation.
"Ah! Miss Allerton, will you pardon me one moment?" said Waring, as he
shifted whip and reins into the left hand and turned coolly up the levee
road. Then with the right he forced open and held up the missive.
It only said, "Whatsoever you do, be here before taps to-night. Come
direct to me, and I will explain.
"Your friend,
"CRAM."
"All right," said Waring, aloud. "My compliments to the captain, and
say I'll be with him."
But even with this injunction he failed to appear. Midnight came without
a word from Waring, and the morning dawned and found him absent still.