"Yes, sir. I'm the fourth. I'm dated November 7th."
"I am aware of the date," said the other, sharply.
He seemed to suspect some frivolous irony in his visitor, a lack of seriousness and respect, a motion of humor repellent to the authoritative and downright atmosphere of that office. Then he glanced suddenly at the calendar and frowned.
"You are mistaken, sir. It is the 6th."
Gard dropped his eyes to his torn and weather-stained old gray hat, and turned it slowly around his finger.
"It comes from being so long down there," he said, regretfully. "I thought their calendar was one day ahead of ours. They seemed to get there about one day ahead."
The other glared at him through his spectacles, then said, shortly:
"I will take your information."
After the questioning and writing were finished he continued:
"I will forward this to the new commander-in-chief, appointed yesterday, the 5th"—with another glance at the calendar for security—"in place of the late commander-in-chief, relieved," and looked up quickly as if expecting to find some revenge or satisfaction in his surprise. But Gard did not seem to be surprised or interested. He looked at a vigorous clump of hair at the top of the official's head, then down at his old hat indifferently.