Most of us have cause for remembering the hospitalities of The Fourth. The same being an up-country regiment, a visit to it involves a rail journey of three hours and thirty times as many miles; but, in view of what lies at the end of them, the ninety miles and the three hours count as nothing. For in The Fourth they know how to do things properly.

The second battalion of The Fourth sent out cards for a ball, last winter, and a round dozen of them turned up in our mail at headquarters. As a rule, we never allow an invitation from that part of the world to go unheeded; but this time we had to return our really regretful regrets, because a meeting of the council of officers had been ordered for that particular night. It was too bad.

But The Third, if for nothing more than old acquaintance’ sake, had to be represented. And so the colonel, after thoughtfully considering the varied attractions of the staff, sent for the quartermaster—“Woodleigh, Q.M.,” he signs himself, when the paper is an official one—and, after loading him down with his blessing and our compliments to the fellows of the other corps, regretfully saw him start off alone towards the scene of impending festivities. “Woodleigh’s a fine shape of man,” the colonel argued to himself, “and he’ll do for a sample of the rest of us. Besides, what earthly sort of use are quartermasters, except for ornament?” So off went Woodleigh to the ball.

In course of time he came back again, telling strange things about what had happened to him during his absence.

“About that ball?” said he, on a night in the following week, when a half-dozen of us had bunched ourselves before one of old Sam’s master-pieces of fire-building, up in The Battery. “Oh, well, it was a big ball, a broad-and-wide ball, a very large ball indeed. You missed it by not going. The armory was decorated right up to the vanishing-point—out of sight, in fact. There were brass twelve-pounders on each side of the Governor’s box, like signs to call attention to the big guns inside of it; and there were oceans of bunting; and all the regimental colors that The Fourth has had issued to it in the last thirty years; and jungles of palms and other green things; and girls—yes, there were girls, of course.

“There was one girl— Never mind: that wouldn’t interest you fellows. But perhaps you’d like to hear about the supper. There was a very nourishing supper, so they tell me. I didn’t stay for it, though.”

With our knowledge of the quartermaster’s customary prowess at the banquet table, this last statement seemed to call for farther explanation. We ventured to ask him about it.

“Why did I cut that supper? Well, because I wanted to. Why did I want to? H’m! you’re hot for information, aren’t you? But perhaps I may as well tell you. If I don’t, somebody else will; and if it has to be told, I’d prefer to have it told truthfully.

“It was all on account of that girl—that one girl. I’m not ashamed to admit that it was a case of utter annihilation at first sight. I had hardly stepped out upon the armory floor, when my eye fell on her; and from that instant I knew that, for me, there wasn’t another girl in that whole hall—no, nor in the whole wide world. ‘See anybody you’d like to meet?’ says Major Brayton, who had me under his wing. ‘Yes, present me to that stunning girl in yellow,’ says I, like a flash; ‘that girl sitting over there beside the stout woman in black.’ Confound Brayton! he might have warned me. But he didn’t: he only grinned and said ‘Perhaps you’d better get Erwin to take you up. But come along with me, I’ll risk it.’

“Whew! she was a tearing beauty. Big, soft, brown eyes, and a regular cloud of wavy, brown hair to match, and a general effect of having just stepped out of one of Gibson’s drawings. When the major presented me, my heart was thumping like a bass-drum. Fact! Her name? I didn’t quite catch it. But I captured her card, and signed contracts for a waltz, and some sort of country-dance just after it, and another waltz well along towards the end of the list. How did I score her down on my card? Why, I just scratched down ‘D’—which might have stood for most anything. “Well, we floated through the waltz. It was a treat, for she was a divine dancer, as I’d thought she’d be. When the country-dance came along, I suggested that we’d do well to hunt up some place in the gallery from which we could look down upon it, explaining that I was a little weak in my minor tactics, and really didn’t feel up to getting tangled in any such complicated manoeuvres unless I had a book of directions with me. So up to the gallery we went, and I found an ideal corner, all hidden by bunting draperies, and palms and things.

“And there we sat—just we two—in a ready-made paradise of our own, utterly forgetful of the crush of prancing idiots who were toiling away on the floor below us. H’m! I think I must have lost my head completely. I said all sorts of things. As a matter of fact, I can’t begin to remember half what I did say. I only know that finally the music stopped, and she rose with a sigh. ‘Can’t I steal this next dance?’ says I, taking her card from her to see who the lucky man was that had it. ‘No,’ says she softly, ‘I’m afraid that it wouldn’t be possible.’ I glanced at the card, and for the first time noticed that the next dance and fully two-thirds of the others were labelled ‘J.E.’, in a painfully distinct and careful hand.

“And while I was assimilating this interesting fact, who should come blundering into our little, private paradise but Jack Erwin, first lieutenant of ‘C’, Fourth. You don’t know him? Wish I didn’t! ‘Hello! Woodleigh, old man,’ says he, grabbing my paw. ‘Found you at last. They told me you were doing guard duty for me. Well, I’m waiting to be congratulated.’

“‘I beg pardon, Jack,’ says I; ‘promotion?’ And then he laughed—one of those silly, cheerful, lover’s laughs—and tucked my girl’s slender little hand under his arm. ‘No,’ says he; ‘or, rather, yes. Hadn’t you heard of my engagement?’ And he smiled down on the girl in a way that made me wild to toss him over the balcony railing.

“But I didn’t. I simply pulled myself together as best I could, and shook hands with him, and mumbled something or other to her, and then watched them go strolling off together. And just as they went out of sight behind the palms, I saw her press closer to him, and heard her say, ‘Oh, Jack, dear, I thought you never would come!’

“That’s all I know about the ball. If you’re still thirsting for points on it, I’ll refer you to Whateley, of ‘H’ troop. He was there. Danced all night, I believe, and generally did his duty. Queer boy, Whateley! It made me sorrowful to see him wasting his time in that way, when he might have been putting it in to better advantage. But then, the ‘Yellow-Legs’ are always great on dismounted duty; nothing short of ‘Boots-and-Saddles’ ever rattles a really and truly volunteer trooper.”

Little Poore had wandered over to the bookcase, and was standing before it, thumbing over the pages of the latest adjutant-general’s report. “The first lieutenant of ‘C’, Fourth, is here put down as one Wilkins,” he said, turning towards us. “I don’t seem to find the name of Erwin anywhere in the register.”

Woodleigh calmly looked over at him, and then addressed the rest of us. “You’ll have to excuse him. He hasn’t been with us long, and doesn’t quite understand my ways,” he explained. “Very likely he thought I’d have the bad taste to lug real names into a personal story of that sort. Come back here, Poore, and sit down. You must learn to save yourself all un-necessary trouble.” Poore put away his book, and returned to his place in the family circle.

“Care to hear anything more about my adventures, up there with The Fourth?” inquired Woodleigh, rising and taking up a more congenial position, with his back to the crackling fire. “Because, if you do, there was another odd thing that happened that evening. After my heart had been broken, in the way that I’ve told you, Tileson, the Q.M. of The Fourth, ran up against me. He noticed that I wasn’t quite in gear. ‘You’re looking faint,’ says he. ‘Come along with me, and I’ll see if something can’t be done for you. This ball business is all childish folly.’ Tileson, you know, isn’t a dancing man.

“Well, he took me away from the armory, and over to the club—you fellows remember that club they have up there?—and we played billiards and other games for a while. Tileson also fixed me up with restoratives until I felt quite like myself again; for he ranks high as a scientific quartermaster. Finally we sat down to smoke, and while we were smoking we got to talking shop.

“I don’t remember just what led up to it, but we drifted along from one thing to another until we got into a discussion on athletics. Well, you know how it goes: Tileson began to yarn about what he used to do in that line, when he was younger; and that, of course, started me into recalling certain feats of my own long-gone youth; and so we had it, back and forth, until Tileson ended up by wanting to make some fool-bet or other. And right at that point I conceived an idea.

“You see, it was growing late, and I found that I was becoming sleepier than a stewed owl. Besides, that club was full of men, and thick with smoke; and I wanted to get away from the confounded noise and chatter. I’d engaged a room at the hotel, and had left my bag there; for I’d made my plans to stay in town all night—but, as I said, I was attacked by an idea.

“‘Tileson,’ says I, after the idea in all its beauty had paraded itself before my mind’s eye, ‘I’m not a betting man. And least of all will I bet money. Playing for money invariably leads to hard feelings. His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Germany, and likewise I, Woodleigh, Q.M. of The Third, frown down upon all gambling among officers, both of us holding that it is detrimental to the best interests of the service. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do for your amusement: I’ll make you a wager of a small dinner. That’s not gambling, because we both have to eat dinner, every day in the week, for which somebody has to pay. Am I correct?’

“Tileson had to admit that a daily dinner was of the nature of a necessity, and that it wouldn’t be gambling to risk one. So I proceeded to spread out the details of my proposition. ‘It is a bright, moon-lighted night,’ says I, after taking a peek at my watch for certain reasons of my own; ‘there’s no snow on the ground, and there’s not a breath of wind: therefore a paper trail would lie beautifully—which is something that I personally can’t do. Why wouldn’t it be an educated scheme to arrange a hare-and-hounds chase, as a means of settling this speed question?’

“This seemed to strike Tileson as a grand thought, and so I went right along with my remarks. ‘Of course,’ says I, ‘I’ll be handicapped by not knowing the country, but I’m reasonably certain that I can start out from this club with two minutes lee-way, and lead you a chase for forty-five minutes, without being caught. I’ll carry a basketful of paper, and drop a handful of it, every twenty yards, as long as it lasts. I’ll also agree not to enter any house or building during that three-quarters of an hour; my time shall be entirely devoted to going cross-country. Moreover, after leaving the club, and making one turn, I’ll lay my course in a crow-line—I mean, as the bee flies—for a distance of at least a half-mile, thereby giving you a chance to run me down by a straightaway sprint. Now, what do you say?’

“‘It’s a go!’ says Tileson, gobbling down the bait, without a thought for any hook that might be hidden inside it. ‘Well,’ says I; ‘that’s all I wanted to know. Now I’ll just slide over to the hotel, and shift out of these togs. I’m not going to travel cross-country in a brand-new dress uniform. Can’t afford it. I shall have to insist on entering for the event in citizen’s dress. I’ll be back in a minute, and we’ll draw up final articles.’

“Naturally, Tileson claimed the same privilege, and made a break for home, to change his outfit; while I tooled across to the hotel, to look after a few arrangements of my own. First, I rushed up to my room, stripped off my full-dress, and packed it into my travelling bag, strapping my overcoat on the outside, with my sword snugly tucked underneath it. Then I went down to the office, explained that I had made other plans for the night, paid my bill, and asked for the night porter. I bought him outright with a shining half-dollar, took him into a corner, and carefully coached him in the part I’d laid out for him to play in my programme. Furthermore, I grabbed a sheet of paper, and wrote out exactly what I wished him to do, so that there could be no possible slip-up. And then, having given him my bag and his written orders, I went back to the club.

“I got there just before Tileson. When he came in, the fellows sent up a yell that opened great cracks in the plastering, for he appeared in the most marvellous get-up that ever was seen outside of comic opera. I hadn’t believed it, but it seems that, in his day, he really used to be something of an amateur athlete. Well, he’d gone down into his old-clothes box, and had fished out all the sporty duds that he could lay hand to: and there he stood, after he’d thrown off his ulster, in a pair of spiked running shoes, his legs bare to the knee, a pair of white flannel knickerbockers coming next, a striped sweater a-top of that, and a faded old rowing cap crowning the whole crazy-quilt combination. It was very obvious that he hadn’t appeared in his nondescript regalia for some time previously, for the billiard-room reeked like an apothecary shop with the odor of camphor.

“Wasn’t he a gaudy object! I had to sit down to laugh, and it really was quite a time before I got into shape enough to put in a protest against his turning up in such light marching order as that. But it was no use. He maintained that his rig was citizen’s dress and nothing else, and the rest of the fellows backed him up in his claim. So I gracefully yielded the point. ‘If this isn’t citizen’s dress, what is it?’ says he. He certainly had me there.

“By this time the excitement in that club was quoted at a high figure. It was after two o’clock in the morning, and the men were beginning to drop in from the ball in squads. At least a dozen of The Fourth’s officers were there, besides a lot from out of town. All the odds were on Tileson—nobody had the nerve to bet against that fearful and wonderful rig of his.

“Well, we sent a select committee into the reading-room, and set them at work tearing up the old papers on the files for the ‘scent’ that was to be left along my trail. And they worked with a will, until they’d filled a waste-basket heaping full. Then we selected judges, and umpires, and referees, and time-keepers, until about everybody in the place had some office or other. And all the while I kept one eye on the clock that stood in the corner of the billiard-room. It was an old-fashioned, tall clock, and I’d noted the fact that it was eleven minutes slow. This, I’ll state, made it necessary for me to perform some wonderful problems in mental arithmetic; and trying to figure, in the midst of the row that was going on up there, wasn’t any intellectual picnic. I managed it, though.

“Now, the billiard-room was at the rear, and in the third story, of the club-house, and we’d agreed that the start should be made from it. This, of course, was because I didn’t care to have anybody know just what I was up to during the first two minutes of the race. I also had stipulated that Tileson and all hands should stay in that room until my time-limit had expired. Well, when the venerable clock alleged that it was two-thirty-nine, I tucked the waste-paper basket under my arm, shook hands with Tileson, and got on my marks at the head of the stairway. ‘Start me at two-forty,’ says I, scooping up a fistful of paper, and nodding up towards the clock. ‘’Tention!’ sang out Major Brayton, whom we’d made head time-keeper. ‘By the numbers: one—two—go!’ And at that I pitched a bunch of torn paper up into the air, so that Tileson wouldn’t have any trouble in finding where my trail began, and then bundled myself down those stairs like a thousand of brick.

“But as soon as I landed on the sidewalk, I took it more easily; for two minutes’ start was ample for my requirements. I lighted a cigar, and then headed down the street at an ordinary gait, conscientiously dropping paper at every twenty yards. You may bet that I didn’t run: I wasn’t planning to have any country policeman scoop me in for a suspicious character. Wherein I displayed great brain-power.

“Now, the club up there, you’ll remember, is located on the main street of the town. Very likely you’ll remember also that the railway station lies only about a hundred yards down the street from the club-house. Furthermore, the tracks of the railway run across that street at grade, in the comfortably reckless way that they have in towns of that size. Well, now you have the whole situation, and you can see, of course, what my plan of campaign was like.

“I’d recalled the fact, while I was talking with Tileson, that the down mail-train from Canada was due to strike the town at two-forty-eight, and was scheduled to continue its run to the eastward at two-fifty-three. I happened to know, too, that it seldom picked up any passengers at that hour of the night: that, in fact, it stopped mainly for the purpose of watering the engine and juggling mail-bags. So I felt fairly confident that nobody would suspect me of having any designs on that particular method of performing a cross-country run. And events proved that I was right. “Well, after I’d cleared the club, I strolled down the street and took up my position alongside the track, just as the locomotive gave a warning snort and came slowly pulling out from the station. I looked at my watch. It showed two-fifty-three, to a second. I turned and glanced towards the club, and saw a white figure come shooting out into the moonlight, followed by a running accompaniment of darker shapes. And then, as the engine went puffing past, I faced towards the train.

“It gathered headway slowly, and the first cars seemed to crawl by me. But by the time the baggage-car, mail-car, and a pair of ordinary coaches had gone lumbering past, the whole outfit was making pretty fair speed; and when I grabbed the handrail of the Pullman which came along as rear guard to the whole procession, I had to hop like a monkey with Saint Vitus’ dance. I got aboard all right, though, and brought my paper-basket with me, without spilling more than a reasonable amount of its contents. And then I looked back, and saw things happening.

“Now, while I was standing by the track, waiting for the Pullman to get within boarding distance, I’d heard, above the roar of the train, a perfect pandemonium of other sounds. But I hadn’t had the nerve to look behind me, because I knew that I’d have to make pretty close connections with my handrail, when it came along. I was painfully aware that I should have a narrow squeak in getting away; for the distance from the club was so short that Tileson stood a very brilliant show of covering it before the train could gather headway enough to save me from being run down. And, if it hadn’t been for a providential miracle, I’m inclined to think that I should have had to pay for that dinner, after all. But the miracle got there just in the nick of time.

“It seems that it’s the custom of the one policeman on night duty in that town to go to the station to meet all trains, whereby he keeps himself awake and exercises a sort of general supervision over the in-comings and out-goings of the populace. Well, as the train left the station, the policeman sauntered out upon the main street, just in time to see coming tearing towards him a wild man in indecent garments, followed by a mob of panting pursuers. Naturally enough he saw before him the chance of a lifetime; and so he pulled himself into shape, tackled Tileson, and down they went in a wild snarl of arms and legs and bad language. And that’s what I saw as I stood there on the rear platform; for it was a bright, moonlight night, and everything was as plain as print. The show didn’t last long for me, though, because the train was humming along on a straight stretch of track, and in a little while the smoke and dust streamed out in its wake, like a curtain falling on the last act of a tragedy. Did I laugh? Did I? I did—until I came perilously near rolling off the car! I kept my wits about me, though, and religiously dealt out torn paper, every twenty yards, until it was all gone. I didn’t forget that I’d made a solemn agreement to leave behind me a plain and continuous trail.

“At the rate at which we were spinning along it didn’t take a great while to exhaust my supply of ‘scent.’ When the last of it was gone, I kicked the basket overboard, and went inside the car. And there I found my luggage waiting me, and a berth all engaged; for my man from the hotel had followed his orders to the letter.

“Now, I’d like to ask you if that wasn’t quite an event in amateur athletics? I hold that the cross-country championship belongs to The Third; and I also claim that I scored on Tileson and his suit of many colors.” On which points the sentiment of the meeting seemed to be with Woodleigh.

A day or two afterwards one of us happened to run across Whateley. “That man Woodleigh, of yours, is a corker!” said he. “After I left the ball, the other night, I went up to that club where The Fourth’s fellows hang out. Got there just after Woodleigh had gone sailing off in a chariot of fire, like old what’s-his-name. Well, it was worth a four-cornered gold brick to hear ’em rubbing it into Tileson! Did you know he came within an inch of being pulled in for assaulting a constable? Oh, he’ll never hear the last of it! I’d like to go you five that he sends in his papers before next camp. Old Woodleigh didn’t cut a very wide swath at the dance, though. Did he tell you about it? He was paired off with a little, stumpy, freckle-faced girl, and had to tramp nine laps ’round the hall with her in the ‘Grand March,’ so called. Perhaps he wasn’t the picture of misery! He and Tileson escaped, right after the march; sneaked for the club before the music struck up for the first waltz. Really, you fellows ought to send somebody else besides Woodleigh to represent you on occasions of that sort. He doesn’t do his duty.”