“Wasn’t presented,” was the sulky reply. “Let a lot of stuffy old women show up in search of long-lost sons and those fellows at headquarters unload them on us in less than no time, but a brace of pretty girls—! Why, they double the gate guards so that no outsider can so much as see them. Billy, here, knows ’em. Ask him.”
By this time the youngster had ranged up alongside the adjutant and was laughingly enjoying the latest arrival’s tirade at the expense of the headquarters’ staff, but at his closing words Lieutenant Billy’s grin of amusement suddenly left his face, giving way to a look of blank amaze.
“I know ’em! I haven’t been east of the Big Muddy since I was a kid.”
“They asked for you all the same, just after you started. ’Least one of ’em did—for What’s-his-name?—the chief’s military legal adviser, came out bareheaded and called after you, but you were out of hearing. He said the cousin, the prettiest one, recognized you as you skipped away from the general’s tent and pointed you out to her friend. Somebody explained you were running an errand for one of those aides too lazy to go himself, and that you’d be back presently.”
“Then go at once, young man,” said the adjutant, laying a mighty hand on the junior’s square shoulder. “Stand not upon the order of your going, but git! Never you mind about the colonel. He won’t be here until after he’s been there, and he’s in for a rasping over this morning’s inspection. Just look at the report. Sergeant-major, send me Colonel Colt’s report!” he called aloud, tossing his head back as he spoke, “Come in, Parson; come out of the wet.” And, eager enough to read a famous inspector’s criticisms of the appearance of the regiment, the officer addressed as Parson shoved briskly into the tent.
The young soldier who had opened the tent flap a few minutes before came forward with a folded paper which, in silence, he handed the adjutant and turned back to his desk. Mr. Gordon took the paper, but his eyes followed the soldier. Then he called, somewhat sharply:
“Morton!”
The young fellow stopped at the dividing crack between the two tent floors, and slowly faced the three officers. He was slender, well built, erect. His uniform fitted him trimly, and was worn with easy grace, his hands and feet were small and slender, his eyes and hair dark and fine, his features delicate and clear cut, his complexion a trifle blistered and beaten by the harsh winds that whistled in every day from the sea, and, as he turned, all three officers were struck by its extreme pallor.
“You’re sick again, Morton,” said the adjutant somewhat sternly. “I thought I told you to see Dr. Heffernan. Have you done so?”
“I—wasn’t sick enough,” faltered the young soldier. “I was all right a minute or two—or rather this morning, sir. It’ll be over presently. Perhaps it was the smell of the oil that did it—the stove is close to my desk.”