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Augustus Albumblatt, young and new and sleek with the latest book- knowledge of war, reported to his first troop commander at Fort Brown. The ladies had watched for him, because he would increase the number of men, the officers because he would lessen the number of duties; and he joined at a crisis favorable to becoming speedily known by them all. Upon that same day had household servants become an extinct race. The last one, the commanding officer’s cook, had told the commanding officer’s wife that she was used to living where she could see the cars. She added that there was no society here “fit for man or baste at all.” This opinion was formed on the preceding afternoon when Casey, a sergeant of roguish attractions in G troop, had told her that he was not a marrying man. Three hours later she wedded a gambler, and this morning at six they had taken the stage for Green River, two hundred miles south, the nearest point where the bride could see the cars.

“Frank,” said the commanding officer’s wife, “send over to H troop for York.”

“Catherine,” he answered, “my dear, our statesmen at Washington say it’s wicked to hire the free American soldier to cook for you. It’s too menial for his manhood.”

“Frank, stuff!”

“Hush, my love. Therefore York must be spared the insult of twenty more dollars a month, our statesmen must be re-elected, and you and I, Catherine, being cookless, must join the general mess.”

Thus did all separate housekeeping end, and the garrison began unitedly to eat three times a day what a Chinaman set before them, when the long-expected Albumblatt stepped into their midst, just in time for supper.

This youth was spic-and-span from the Military Academy, with a top-dressing of three months’ thoughtful travel in Germany. “I was deeply impressed with the modernity of their scientific attitude,” he pleasantly remarked to the commanding officer. For Captain Duane, silent usually, talked at this first meal to make the boy welcome in this forlorn two-company post.

“We’re cut off from all that sort of thing here,” said he. “I’ve not been east of the Missouri since ’69. But we’ve got the railroad across, and we’ve killed some Indians, and we’ve had some fun, and we’re glad we’re alive–eh, Mrs. Starr?”

“I should think so,” said the lady.

“Especially now we’ve got a bachelor at the post!” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “That has been the one drawback, Mr. Albumblatt.”

“I thank you for the compliment,” said Augustus, bending solemnly from his hips; and Mrs. Starr looked at him and then at Mrs. Bainbridge.

“We’re not over-gay, I fear,” the Captain continued; “but the flat’s full of antelope, and there’s good shooting up both canyons.”

“Have you followed the recent target experiments at Metz?” inquired the traveller. “I refer to the flattened trajectory and the obus controversy.”

“We have not heard the reports,” answered the commandant, with becoming gravity. “But we own a mountain howitzer.”

“The modernity of German ordnance–” began Augustus.

“Do you dance, Mr. Albumblatt?” asked Mrs. Starr.

“For we’ll have a hop and all be your partners,” Mrs. Bainbridge exclaimed.

“I will be pleased to accommodate you, ladies.”

“It’s anything for variety’s sake with us, you see,” said Mrs. Starr, smoothly smiling; and once again Augustus bent blandly from his hips.

But the commanding officer wished leniency. “You see us all,” he hastened to say. “Commissioned officers and dancing-men. Pretty shabby–“

“Oh, Captain!” said a lady.

“And pretty old.”

“Captain!” said another lady.

“But alive and kicking. Captain Starr, Mr. Bainbridge, the Doctor and me. We are seven.”

Augustus looked accurately about him. “Do I understand seven, Captain?”

“We are seven,” the senior officer repeated.

Again Mr. Albumblatt counted heads. “I imagine you include the ladies, Captain? Ha! ha!”

“Seven commissioned males, sir. Our Major is on sick-leave, and two of our Lieutenants are related to the President’s wife. She can’t bear them to be exposed. None of us in the church-yard lie–but we are seven.”