The Colonel's face grew purple with rage. He was just able to gasp his words during the progress of the trial. It was brief, and when it ended and the rest had gone, he faced the Lieutenant with blazing eyes:
"How dare you, sir, vote with that damned fool against me?"
"Why, I never thought to hurt you, Colonel—"
"No? And what did you think?"
"I only thought of relieving the evident embarrassment of a young officer—"
"You did, eh?—no thought of me or my feelings, of my wishes. You're a hell of a son-in-law, you are—"
He paused for breath and choked with rage no words could express. When at last his tongue found speech, he swore in oaths more expressive and profound than modern man has ever dreamed. He damned the Court. He damned Tom Smith. He damned the Second Lieutenant. He damned the regiment. He damned the Government that created it. He damned the Indians that called it to the plains. He damned the world and all in it, and all things under it. But, particularly and specifically, he damned the young ass who dared to flaunt his feelings and opinions after smiling in his face at his house, for days and weeks and months.
Finally, facing the blushing Lieutenant, his eyes flashing indignant scorn, he shouted:
"No man who votes with a damned fool like Tom Smith, can marry my daughter!"