the enemy."

"Enemy, ye gods!" roared Ranson. "Why, if I were to see a Moro
entering that door with a bolo in each fist I'd fall on his neck and
kiss him. I'm not trained to this garrison business. You fellows are.
They took all the sporting blood out of you at West Point; one bad
mark for smoking a cigarette, two bad marks for failing to salute the
instructor in botany, and all the excitement you ever knew were
charades and a cadet-hop a t Cullum Hall. But, you see, before I went
to the Philippines with Merritt, I'd been there twice on a fellow's
yacht, and we'd tucked the Spanish governor in his bed with his spurs
on. Now, I have to sit around and hear old Bolland tell how he put
down a car-strike in St. Louis, and Stickney's long-winded yarns of
Table Mountain and the Bloody Angle. He doesn't know the Civil War's
over. I tell you, if I can't get excitement on tap I've got to make
it, and if I make it out here they'll court-martial me. So there's
nothing for it but to resign."

"You'd better wait till the end of the week," said Crosby, grinning.
"It's going to be full of gayety. Thursday, paymaster's coming out
with our cash, and to-night that Miss Post from New York arrives in
the up stage. She's to visit the colonel, so everybody will have to
give her a good time."

"Yes, I certainly must wait for that," growled Ranson; "there
probably will be progressive euchre parties all along the line, and
we'll sit up as late as ten o'clock and stick little gilt stars on
ourselves."

Crosby laughed tolerantly.