“I wish I was as sure of my commission.”
The stable sergeant swallowed hard.
“But you’ll get that now, of course. I’ll go right in and tell Uncle Jimmy.”
“Oh, I say!” protested Sergeant Gray. “You—you mustn’t do that, you know.”
“Aw, rats!” muttered the stable sergeant; and clutching the saddle furiously moved away. Up the road he met a military policeman, and stopped him.
“Better grab that fellow.” He indicated Sergeant Gray behind him, now shamelessly holding the hand of the general’s niece.
“Why?”
“Awol,” replied the stable sergeant darkly—being military brevity for absent without leave. “And you might observe,” he added, “that he isn’t in uniform.”
The girl got into the little car. Hat in hand, eyes full of many things he dared not put into words, Sergeant Gray of the Headquarters Troop of the ——th Division watched her start the car, smile into his eyes and move away. He came to at a touch on his arm.
“What’re you doing in that outfit?” demanded the M. P. sharply.