"On Independence Day," said the colonel, in answer to their inquiries, "he participated in a gallant and bloody assault on the enemy's lines, in which many trenches were taken. Save for superficial wounds, easily healed in the young and vigorous, he came out of the melée unscathed."
"Good for him!" exclaimed one.
"Bravo!" shouted another.
"And, gentlemen," the colonel's voice rose and swelled moderately as he proceeded, "I am proud to say that, following that engagement, my grandson, for conspicuous bravery in action, was promoted to the rank of sergeant in the colonial troops of Great Britain."
"Splendid!"
"He's the boy!"
The colonel's eyes were flashing now; his head was erect, his one hand was thrust into the bosom of his waistcoat.
"I thank you, gentlemen!" he said, "on behalf of my grandson. To pass inherited patriotism from father to son, from generation to generation, and to see it find its perfect fulfillment in the latest scion of the race, is to live in the golden age, gentlemen, and to partake of the fountain of youth."
His voice quavered a little at the end, and he waited for a moment to recover it, and possibly to give his eloquence an opportunity to sink in more deeply, and then he continued: