“Maybe the post will be gayer now that spring has come,” said Curtis hopefully, but with a doubtful look at the open fire.
“I wouldn't do anything rash,” urged Crosby.
Miss Cahill shook her head. “Why, I like it at the post,” she said, “and I've been here five years—ever since I left the convent—and I—”
Ranson interrupted, bowing gallantly. “Yes, I know, Miss Cahill,” he said, “but I didn't come here from a convent. I came here from the blood-stained fields of war. Now, out in the Philippines there's always something doing. They give you half a troop, and so long as you bring back enough Mausers and don't get your men cut up, you can fight all over the shop and no questions asked. But all I do here is take care of sick horses. Any vet. in the States has seen as much fighting as I have in the last half-year. I might as well have had charge of horse-car stables.”
“There is some truth in that,” said Curtis cautiously. “If you do resign, certainly no one can accuse you of resigning in the face of the enemy.”
“Enemy, ye gods!” roared Ranson. “Why, if I were to see a Moro entering that door with a bolo in each fist I'd fall on his neck and kiss him. I'm not trained to this garrison business. You fellows are. They took all the sporting blood out of you at West Point; one bad mark for smoking a cigarette, two bad marks for failing to salute the instructor in botany, and all the excitement you ever knew were charades and a cadet-hop a t Cullum Hall. But, you see, before I went to the Philippines with Merritt, I'd been there twice on a fellow's yacht, and we'd tucked the Spanish governor in his bed with his spurs on. Now, I have to sit around and hear old Bolland tell how he put down a car-strike in St. Louis, and Stickney's long-winded yarns of Table Mountain and the Bloody Angle. He doesn't know the Civil War's over. I tell you, if I can't get excitement on tap I've got to make it, and if I make it out here they'll court-martial me. So there's nothing for it but to resign.”
“You'd better wait till the end of the week,” said Crosby, grinning. “It's going to be full of gayety. Thursday, paymaster's coming out with our cash, and to-night that Miss Post from New York arrives in the up stage. She's to visit the colonel, so everybody will have to give her a good time.”
“Yes, I certainly must wait for that,” growled Ranson; “there probably will be progressive euchre parties all along the line, and we'll sit up as late as ten o'clock and stick little gilt stars on ourselves.”
Crosby laughed tolerantly.
“I see your point of view,” he said. “I remember when my father took me to Monte Carlo I saw you at the tables with enough money in front of you to start a bank. I remember my father asked the croupiers why they allowed a child of your age to gamble. I was just a kid then, and so were you, too. I remember I thought you were the devil of a fellow.”