“He was not!” said the lace and roses.
“I know better!” said Juno, hotly. “There’s only two of you, and a Type 14 house is good enough for you; but we have got to have a larger one, because our family is larger.”
“Well, there, don’t fight about it,” said the Quartermaster’s assistant. “Go to Culebra, and it’ll be settled all right by the Colonel.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” said Juno. “This ain’t no place to get justice.”
“Well, you will have to hurry,” said the assistant, looking at his watch. “Better run now; the train is coming.”
Both women ran, and snarled at each other as they reached the street.
“The tall one’ll get the house, if I know human nature,” said the assistant. “And, say! ain’t she the grandest thing that ever came down the pike!”
The Quartermaster came in, flustered, and said, as he dropped into his chair, “Those damned class quarters will be the death of us all. Branigan, you’ll have to stay here to-morrow and face the bunch. I’m all in.”
* * *
Q. M. Branigan was luxuriously smoking what, from its aroma, might be called a good cigar; his office chair was tilted backward and his neat white canvas shoes were resting on the orderly desk. He wore a flaring red necktie, and that was the only note not in harmony with the peace prevailing in that calm, cool emporium. A look over his shoulder revealed the fact that he was reading “Barrack Room Ballads.” It was twenty minutes before the time for opening. But a timid knock on the door, which was repeated many times, caused Mr. Branigan to frown and call out in a rather gruff tone, “What do you want?”