gimlet eyes seemed to pierce my back as they sized up my clothes,
which, as I said before, had suffered not a little by my trip, and
my collar, which I'll admit straight out wasn't up to a castle
standard, and the undeniable stain of machine-oil on my cuffs
which I had got that morning in putting the machine to rights. You
ought to have seen the man that took my hat, which he did with the
air of a person receiving pearls and diamonds on a golden platter,
and smudged his lordly fingers with the grime of my Fourth of
July. And that darling of a girl, who never noticed my
discomfiture, but whose eyes sparkled at times with a hidden
merriment--shall I ever forget her as she sat there and helped me
to mutton-chops from simply priceless old Charles the First plate!

We had black coffee together in a window-seat overlooking the
harbour and the ships, and she asked me a lot of questions about
the war with Spain and my service in the Dixie. She never moved a
muscle when it came out I had been a quartermaster, though I could
feel she was astounded at my being but a shade above a common
seaman, and not, as she had taken it for granted, a commissioned
officer. I was too proud to explain over-much, or to tell her I
had gone in, as so many of my friends had done, from a strong
sense of duty and patriotism at the time of my country's need, and
consequently allowed her to get a very wrong idea, I suppose,
about my state in life and position in the world. Indeed, I was
just childish enough to get a trifle wounded, and let her add
misconception to misconception out of a silly obstinacy.

"But what do you do," she asked, "now that the war is over and
you've taken away everything from the poor Spaniards and left the
Navy?"