On one occasion, the major, being officer of the day, observed a soldier with his cloak lying loosely upon his arm.
"Where's your cloak, rascal?" was the major's peremptory demand.
"Here, sir," was the reply.
"What's the use of a cloak if it's not rolled up?" thundered the major; and the poor scamp was sent to the lock-up.
Thus much for the major's discipline. But like most old officers of no great depth of brain, the major had his standard joke, which had gone the rounds of a hundred mess-tables. Latterly, however, he had grown coy of a repetition, and seems to cherish a suspicion that he has not cut so good a figure in the story as he once imagined.
A little after-dinner mellowness, however, is sure to bring the major to his trump card, and in knowledge of this, Ned and myself (who had never heard his story), one day tempted the major's appetite with some very generous Tokay.
Major M'Gowd bore up, as most old officers are able to do, to a very late hour, and it was not till eleven that he seemed fairly kindled.
"Well, major, now for the story," said we.
"Ah, boys, it won't do" (the major looked smilingly through his glass), "it was really too bad."
"Out with it, major," and after as much refusing and urging as would seat half the girls in New York at the piano, the old gentleman opened: