Both Don and his aunt gave Hawkins a look of thanks and then went down-stairs. For some time they sat in silence and listened to the scuffling of feet on the floor above them. Then Don said in a low voice: “It might have been worse, mightn’t it?”
His aunt nodded. “I suppose it might,” she admitted. “One of them seems a gentlemanly fellow.”
Fortunately, Hawkins and Snell were in the house very little during the daytime. They would rise early and hurry off to eat mess with their company; then they might return for a few minutes only to hurry out to the parade grounds. Usually they were away somewhere during the afternoon and evening. On the whole they were not much bother; it was the mere fact that Aunt Martha had to have them that irritated her most.
Jud’s mother also had suffered. Jud told Don about it one evening at Aunt Martha’s. “We’ve got only one,” he said, “but he’s a sergeant-major—big and fat and red-faced and uglier than a mud fence!”
“With blue eyes and a red nose?” asked Don.
“Yes, little mean eyes that somehow make me think of buttermilk.”
“Probably it’s the sergeant-major who came to us,” said Don.
“Probably it is,” added his aunt dryly. “I don’t see how there could be two men quite so ugly as he.”
“Well, he’s a billeting sergeant,” said Jud, “and his name is Bluster.”
“Huh,” said Don. “He’s well named.”