“Do you mean the state militia?” Ardmore inquired.
“Why, of course. They’re having their annual encampment over in Azbell County at Camp Dangerfield—they always name the camp for the governor—and father was to visit the camp next Saturday for his annual inspection. That’s near your county, where your farm is; didn’t you know that?”
Ardmore was humble, as he always was when his ignorance was exposed, but his face brightened joyfully.
“You mustn’t break that engagement. Those troops ought to be inspected. Inspecting his troops is one of the most important things a governor has to do. It’s just like a king or an emperor. I’ve seen Emperor William and King Humbert inspect their soldiers, and they go galloping by like mad, with all the soldiers saluting, and it’s perfectly bully. And then there have to be manœuvres, to see whether the troops know how to fight or not, and forced marches and sham battles.”
“Papa always speaks to the men,” suggested Jerry, a little abashed by the breadth and splendour of Ardmore’s knowledge. His comparison of the North Carolina militia with the armies of Europe pleased her.
“I think the ladies of the royal family inspect the troops too, sometimes,” he continued. “The queens are always honorary colonels of regiments, and present them with flags, which is a graceful thing to do.”
“Colonel Gillingwater never told me that, and he’s the adjutant-general of the state and ought to know.”
“What’s he colonel of?” asked Ardmore gloomily.
“He was colonel in the Spanish war, or was going to be, but he got typhoid fever, and so he couldn’t go to Cuba, and papa appointed him adjutant-general as a reward for his services; but everybody calls him Colonel just the same.”
“It looks like a pretty easy way of getting a title,” murmured Ardmore. “I had typhoid fever once, and nearly died, and all my hair came out.”