Jefferson Barracks on the morning following the officers' ball, at least
neither was in evidence. By noon all traces of the late festivities had
been removed from the parade ground, and the routine of the Post went on
with the usual mechanical precision. The Army had entertained, it now
labored. In a few hours it would again be ready to be entertained; the
next little event of interest being the pigeon match between Orme and
myself, which swift rumor seemed to have magnified into an importance
not wholly welcome to myself.

We had a late breakfast at Number 16, and my friend Stevenson, who was
to handle me in the match, saw to it that I had a hard tubbing before
breakfast and a good run afterward, and later a hearty luncheon with no
heavy wines. I was surprised at these business-like proceedings, which
were all new to me, and I reflected with no satisfaction that my
hot-headedness in accepting Orme's challenge might result in no glory to
myself, and worse than that, let in my friends for loss; for Stevenson
informed me that in spite of the fact that I had never shot in a race, a
number of wagers were backing me against the Englishman. I reasoned,
however, that these responsibilities should not be considered by one who
needed perfect command of himself. Moreover, although I had never shot
at trapped birds, I reasoned that a bird in the air was a flying bird
after all, whether from trap or tree. Then, again, I was offended at
Orme's air of superiority. Lastly, though it might be the fault of the
Cowles' blood to accept any sort of challenge, it was not our way to
regret that so soon as the day following.

The grounds for the match had been arranged at the usual place, near to
the edge of the military reservation, and here, a half hour before the
time set, there began to gather practically all of the young officers
about the Post, all the enlisted men who could get leave, with cooks,