"Hello!" said Colonel Elliott, glancing at the clock. "Is it so late as that! Trust I've not bored you; you're too good a listener to frighten away."
Kenryck went to rescue his overcoat from the fast diminishing pile upon the chair, while the colonel, pipe in hand, took up a position near the door, to bid good-night to our departing guests. By twos and threes our visitors left us, and then the colonel, as the last descending footfall echoed faintly up the long staircase, turned and glanced at the disorderly array of empty mugs. "I venture to assert," he said, with a laugh, "that there are worse places for story-telling than The Battery. Judging by appearances, I think it doubtful if there's been a dry yarn told to-night, up here."
"Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six," counted Sam, as he made the rounds of the deserted tables. "Twenty-six mugs t' clean an' shine up! Wal, 'twan't sich a bad evenin' a'ter all." And we left him gathering up the tarnished pewters, and swearing strange, New England oaths—"B'gosh!" and "I swan!" and "Gol darn!"—at the prospect of the morrow's polishing.
ONE RECORD
ON THE
REGIMENTAL ROLLS