“But I didn’t. I simply pulled myself together as best I could, and shook hands with him, and mumbled something or other to her, and then watched them go strolling off together. And just as they went out of sight behind the palms, I saw her press closer to him, and heard her say, ‘Oh, Jack, dear, I thought you never would come!’
“That’s all I know about the ball. If you’re still thirsting for points on it, I’ll refer you to Whateley, of ‘H’ troop. He was there. Danced all night, I believe, and generally did his duty. Queer boy, Whateley! It made me sorrowful to see him wasting his time in that way, when he might have been putting it in to better advantage. But then, the ‘Yellow-Legs’ are always great on dismounted duty; nothing short of ‘Boots-and-Saddles’ ever rattles a really and truly volunteer trooper.”
Little Poore had wandered over to the bookcase, and was standing before it, thumbing over the pages of the latest adjutant-general’s report. “The first lieutenant of ‘C’, Fourth, is here put down as one Wilkins,” he said, turning towards us. “I don’t seem to find the name of Erwin anywhere in the register.”
Woodleigh calmly looked over at him, and then addressed the rest of us. “You’ll have to excuse him. He hasn’t been with us long, and doesn’t quite understand my ways,” he explained. “Very likely he thought I’d have the bad taste to lug real names into a personal story of that sort. Come back here, Poore, and sit down. You must learn to save yourself all un-necessary trouble.” Poore put away his book, and returned to his place in the family circle.
“Care to hear anything more about my adventures, up there with The Fourth?” inquired Woodleigh, rising and taking up a more congenial position, with his back to the crackling fire. “Because, if you do, there was another odd thing that happened that evening. After my heart had been broken, in the way that I’ve told you, Tileson, the Q.M. of The Fourth, ran up against me. He noticed that I wasn’t quite in gear. ‘You’re looking faint,’ says he. ‘Come along with me, and I’ll see if something can’t be done for you. This ball business is all childish folly.’ Tileson, you know, isn’t a dancing man.
“Well, he took me away from the armory, and over to the club—you fellows remember that club they have up there?—and we played billiards and other games for a while. Tileson also fixed me up with restoratives until I felt quite like myself again; for he ranks high as a scientific quartermaster. Finally we sat down to smoke, and while we were smoking we got to talking shop.
“I don’t remember just what led up to it, but we drifted along from one thing to another until we got into a discussion on athletics. Well, you know how it goes: Tileson began to yarn about what he used to do in that line, when he was younger; and that, of course, started me into recalling certain feats of my own long-gone youth; and so we had it, back and forth, until Tileson ended up by wanting to make some fool-bet or other. And right at that point I conceived an idea.
“You see, it was growing late, and I found that I was becoming sleepier than a stewed owl. Besides, that club was full of men, and thick with smoke; and I wanted to get away from the confounded noise and chatter. I’d engaged a room at the hotel, and had left my bag there; for I’d made my plans to stay in town all night—but, as I said, I was attacked by an idea.
“‘Tileson,’ says I, after the idea in all its beauty had paraded itself before my mind’s eye, ‘I’m not a betting man. And least of all will I bet money. Playing for money invariably leads to hard feelings. His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Germany, and likewise I, Woodleigh, Q.M. of The Third, frown down upon all gambling among officers, both of us holding that it is detrimental to the best interests of the service. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do for your amusement: I’ll make you a wager of a small dinner. That’s not gambling, because we both have to eat dinner, every day in the week, for which somebody has to pay. Am I correct?’
“Tileson had to admit that a daily dinner was of the nature of a necessity, and that it wouldn’t be gambling to risk one. So I proceeded to spread out the details of my proposition. ‘It is a bright, moon-lighted night,’ says I, after taking a peek at my watch for certain reasons of my own; ‘there’s no snow on the ground, and there’s not a breath of wind: therefore a paper trail would lie beautifully—which is something that I personally can’t do. Why wouldn’t it be an educated scheme to arrange a hare-and-hounds chase, as a means of settling this speed question?’