maiden swords had as yet only jingled on the pavement of Broadway, or
flashed in the gaslight of saloons. They were yet none the less
conscious of their own importance, these embryo Napoleons, but wore
their shoulder straps with a killing air, and had often, on a sunny
afternoon, stood the fire of bright eyes from innumerable promenading
batteries, with gallantry, to say the least.

And now they stood, like Caesars, amid clouds of smoke, and wielded
their formidable goblets with the ease of veterans, though not always
with a soldierly precision. And why should they not? Their tailors had
made them heroes, every one; and they had never yet once led the van in
a retreat.

"And how's Tim?" asked one of the black-coated hangers-on upon
prospective glory.

"Tim's in hot water," answered the colonel, elevating his chin and elbow
with a gesture more suggestive of Bacchus than of Mars.

"Hot brandy and water would be more like him," said the acknowledged wit
of the party, looking gravely at the sugar in his empty glass, as if
indifferent to the bursts of laughter which rewarded his appropriate
sally.

"I'll tell you about it," said the colonel. "Fill up, boys. Thompson,
take a fresh segar."

Thompson took it, and the boys filled up, while the colonel flung down a
specimen of Uncle Sam's eagle with an emphasis that demonstrated what
he would do for the bird when opportunity offered.