“You’ve been falling off in looks the last year, my dear fellow,” Purkitz laughed—“can’t say I much blame the girl—I’ve no finger marks on my cheek, you see!”
“Huh!” grunted Hertz, “solid brass; wouldn’t show the kick of a mule.—What in Heaven’s name are we sent here for any way!—‘await further orders’—that may mean a week.”
“And why not,” the Lieutenant laughed; “the victuals are delicious, and the girls——”
“Oh, go to the devil!”
“And even father, himself, will do for company in a pinch.”
The Captain laughed, too. “Not if I can get away—did you ever see such a countenance? It positively makes me ill.”
“Poor old Scartman,” said Purkitz; “he’s a good man, but there is no denying that ‘the Lord made him as ugly as He could and then hit him in the face.’”
From the eastward, came the sound of a galloping horse.
“Our orders, I hope,” Hertz exclaimed. He glanced at his watch. “A quarter of four—I wonder what silly business we’re to be sent on, now.”
The hoof-beats drew swiftly nearer, but from where the two officers were standing, the high wall of the courtyard obscured the road, and they sauntered slowly across toward the gateway. As they reached it, a big black horse swept around the corner and was upon them before the rider could draw rein.