This youth was spic-and-span from the Military Academy, with a top-dressing of three months' thoughtful travel in Germany. “I was deeply impressed with the modernity of their scientific attitude,” he pleasantly remarked to the commanding officer. For Captain Duane, silent usually, talked at this first meal to make the boy welcome in this forlorn two-company post.
“We're cut off from all that sort of thing here,” said he. “I've not been east of the Missouri since '69. But we've got the railroad across, and we've killed some Indians, and we've had some fun, and we're glad we're alive—eh, Mrs. Starr?”
“I should think so,” said the lady.
“Especially now we've got a bachelor at the post!” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “That has been the one drawback, Mr. Albumblatt.”
“I thank you for the compliment,” said Augustus, bending solemnly from his hips; and Mrs. Starr looked at him and then at Mrs. Bainbridge.
“We're not over-gay, I fear,” the Captain continued; “but the flat's full of antelope, and there's good shooting up both canyons.”
“Have you followed the recent target experiments at Metz?” inquired the traveller. “I refer to the flattened trajectory and the obus controversy.”
“We have not heard the reports,” answered the commandant, with becoming gravity. “But we own a mountain howitzer.”
“The modernity of German ordnance—” began Augustus.
“Do you dance, Mr. Albumblatt?” asked Mrs. Starr.