“You’ve made a mess of the thing and an ass of yourself, Billy,” was Gordon’s comprehensive if not consolatory summary of the matter, “and as Canker has been rapped for one thing or another by camp, division and brigade commanders, one after another, he feels that he’s got to prove that he isn’t the only fool in the business. You’d better employ good counsel and prepare for a fight.”
“Can’t afford it,” said Billy briefly, “and I’m blowed if I’ll ask my dear old dad to come to the rescue. He’s had to cough up (shame on your slang, Billy) far too much already. I tell you, Gordon, I’m so fixed that I can’t explain these things unless I’m actually brought to trial. It’s—it’s—well—you have no secret societies at the Point as we do at college, so you can’t fathom it. I’m no more afraid of standing trial than I am of Squeers—and be d——d to him!”
“Good Lawd, youngster—you—you aren’t quite such an ass as to suppose a court is going to regard any schoolboy obligation as paramount to that which your oath of office demands. Look hyuh, Billy, your head’s just addled! I can’t work on you, but somebody must!”
And Gordon went away very low in his mind. He liked that boy. He loved a keen, alert, snappy soldier on drill, and Billy had no superior in the battalion when it came to handling squad or company. The adjutant plainly saw the peril of his position, and further consultation with his brother-officers confirmed him in his fears. Schuyler, the brigade commissary, being much with the —teenth—messing with them, in fact, when he was not dancing attendance on Miss Prime—heard all this camp talk and told her. Thus it happened that the very next day when he drove with the cousins (Mr. Prime being the while in conference with the detectives still scouring the city for the young deserter, who the father now felt confident was his missing boy), Miss Lawrence looked the captain full in the face with her clear, searching eyes and plumped at him the point-blank question:
“Captain Schuyler, do Mr. Gray’s brother-officers really consider him in danger of dismissal?”
“Miss Lawrence, I grieve to say that not one has any other opinion now.”
There could be no doubt of it. Amy Lawrence turned very pale and her beautiful eyes filled.
“It is a shame!” she said, after a moment’s struggle to conquer the trembling of her lips. “Has—is there no one—influential enough—or with brains enough” (this with returning color) “to take up his case and clear him?”
They were whirling through the beautiful drive of the Golden Gate Park, passing company after company at drill. Even as Amy spoke Schuyler lifted his cap and Miss Prime bowed and smiled. A group of regimental officers, four in number, stood, apparently supervising the work, and as Miss Lawrence quickly turned to see who they might be, her eyes met those of Colonel Armstrong. Five minutes later, the carriage returning drew up as though by some order from its occupants, at that very spot. Armstrong and his adjutant were still there and promptly joined them.
Long weeks afterward that morning lived in Stanley Armstrong’s memory. It was one of those rare August days when the wind blew from the southeast, beat back the drenching Pacific fogs, and let the warm sun pour upon the brilliant verdure of that wonderful park. Earth and air, distant sea and dazzling sky, all seemed glorifying their Creator. Bright-hued birds flashed through the foliage and thrilled the ear with their caroling. The plash of fountain fell softly on the breeze, mingled with the rustling of the luxuriant growth of leaf and flower close at hand. It was not chance that brought the stalwart soldier instantly to Amy’s side. Her gaze was upon him before the carriage stopped, and irresistibly drew him. The man of mature years, the hero of sharp combats and stirring campaigns with a fierce and savage foe, the commander of hundreds of eager and gallant men, obeyed without thought of demur the unspoken summons of a girl yet in her teens. There was a new light in her clear and beautiful eyes, a flush upon her soft and rounded cheek, a little flutter, possibly, in her kind and loyal heart. Heaven knows his beat high with an emotion he could not subdue, though his bearing was grave and courteous as ever, but about that sweet and flushing face there shone the halo of a woman’s brave determination, and no sooner had be reached the carriage side than, bending toward him, she spoke. Mildred Prime could not repress a little gasp of amaze.