Presently there were quick steps and a jubilant knock at his door. "Come in," he said.
In came Caspar, thin, yellow, and in soiled khaki. "They almost tore me to pieces," he cried, laughing. "They danced around like wild things." Then as they shook hands he dutifully said "How are you, sir?"
"How are you, my boy?" answered the Senator casually but kindly.
"Better than I might expect, sir," cried Caspar cheerfully. "We had a pretty hard time, you know."
"You look as if they'd given you a hard run," observed the father in a tone of slight interest.
Caspar was eager to tell. "Yes, sir," he said rapidly. "We did, indeed. Why, it was awful. We—any of us—were lucky to get out of it alive. It wasn't so much the Spaniards, you know. The Army took care of them all right. It was the fever and the—you know, we couldn't get anything to eat. And the mismanagement. Why, it was frightful."
"Yes, I've heard," said the Senator. A certain wistful look came into his eyes, but he did not allow it to become prominent. Indeed, he suppressed it. "And you, Caspar? I suppose you did your duty?"
Caspar answered with becoming modesty. "Well, I didn't do more than anybody else, I don't suppose, but—well, I got along all right, I guess."
"And this great charge up San Juan Hill?" asked, the father slowly. "Were you in that?"
"Well—yes; I was in it," replied the son.