"Faith, me dear lady, it's the princess ye are at furnishin' delights, and all of us ought to agree with me. As me old granddad used to say, 'Bad cest to the lad who don't admire the lasses,' though ye might guess that hits me friend here, Mr. Whitcomb."
More the manner than the words caused a laugh and a flutter. A tall, dark-haired, pretty damsel, Mrs. Thompson's elder daughter, who proved to be a great aid to her mother in leading the general conversation, from her seat by Corporal Hern waved her finger tips across the table at Roy.
"Oh, you say that so nicely. But we shall try to keep Mr. Whitcomb from running away, though there is, of course, no telling what any of you terrible warriors may take it into your heads to do."
Roy arose and made a profound bow to the girl and struck an attitude.
"Flowers by the wall,
Buds at the table,
Joy over all,
Eat while you're able."
He shot this off exactly as though he had committed it to memory. It began, then, to appear that the red-haired, homely lad would surely become the lion of the evening, for all the girls and most of the boys, themselves short in wit, appealed to Roy for a characterization of this or that thing rapidly discussed. And Roy was ever ready, so that the laughter and gaiety made the dinner a pronounced success.
Throughout this effusiveness, though appreciative of the wit and repartee, Herb sat almost silent and observant, though as yet ignorant of what he was particularly to observe. He was near the middle of one side of the table and by him sat the younger of Mrs. Thompson's daughters, an over-fat, giggling girl, slow of speech and evidently lax in ideas. She had been addressed as Laura. Rose and she were no more alike than a slice of ham and an ice cream cone.
Evidently Herb was expected to make himself agreeable to Laura Thompson, judging by the girl's manner, and the pink-flounced creature on the other side of him was all smiles and giggles for Terry Newlin, from Company I.
As the guests became more and more filled with good things and the hours grew longer the talk and laughter fell off a little, even Roy growing less verbose. Presently Rose Thompson, following a glance from her mother, made the request:
"Now, you boys might tell us something about your life and duties in camp. Mr. Hern, you're a non-com and in command here, of course, you——"