| Author: | Charles King | ISBN: | 1230000481076 |
| Publisher: | Consumer Oriented Ebooks Publisher | Publication: | June 11, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Charles King |
| ISBN: | 1230000481076 |
| Publisher: | Consumer Oriented Ebooks Publisher |
| Publication: | June 11, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
"Life is full of ups and downs," mused the colonel, as he laid on the
littered desk before him an official communication just received from
Department Head-Quarters, "especially army life,--and more especially
army life in Texas."
"Now, what are you philosophizing about?" asked his second in command, a
burly major, glancing over the top of the latest home paper, three weeks
old that day.
"D'ye remember Pigott, that little cad that was court-martialled at San
Antonio in '68 for quintuplicating his pay accounts? He married the
widow of old Alamo Hendrix that winter. He's worth half a million
to-day, is running for Congress, and will probably be on the military
committee next year, while here's Lawrence, who was judge advocate of
the court that tried him, gone all to smash." And the veteran officer
commanding the --th Infantry and the big post at Fort Worth glanced
warily along into the adjoining office, where a clerk was assorting the
papers on the adjutant's desk.
"It's the saddest case I ever heard of," said Major Brooks, tossing
aside the _Toledo Blade_ and tripping up over his own, which he had
thoughtfully propped between his legs as he took his seat and
thoughtlessly ignored as he left it. "Damn that sabre,--and the service
generally!" he growled, as he recovered his balance and tramped to the
window. "I'd almost be willing to quit it as Pigott did if I could see
my way to a moderate competence anywhere out of it. Lawrence was as good
a soldier as we had in the 12th, and, yet, what can you do or say? The
mischief's done." And, beating the devil's tattoo on the window, the
major stood gloomily gazing out over the parade.
"It isn't Lawrence himself I'm so---- Orderly, shut that door!" cried
the chief, whirling around in his chair, "and tell those clerks I want
it kept shut until the adjutant comes; and you stay out on the
porch.--It isn't Lawrence I'm so sorely troubled about, Brooks. He has
ability, and could pick up and do well eventually, but he's utterly
discouraged and swamped. What's to become, though, of that poor child
Ada and his little boy?"
"Life is full of ups and downs," mused the colonel, as he laid on the
littered desk before him an official communication just received from
Department Head-Quarters, "especially army life,--and more especially
army life in Texas."
"Now, what are you philosophizing about?" asked his second in command, a
burly major, glancing over the top of the latest home paper, three weeks
old that day.
"D'ye remember Pigott, that little cad that was court-martialled at San
Antonio in '68 for quintuplicating his pay accounts? He married the
widow of old Alamo Hendrix that winter. He's worth half a million
to-day, is running for Congress, and will probably be on the military
committee next year, while here's Lawrence, who was judge advocate of
the court that tried him, gone all to smash." And the veteran officer
commanding the --th Infantry and the big post at Fort Worth glanced
warily along into the adjoining office, where a clerk was assorting the
papers on the adjutant's desk.
"It's the saddest case I ever heard of," said Major Brooks, tossing
aside the _Toledo Blade_ and tripping up over his own, which he had
thoughtfully propped between his legs as he took his seat and
thoughtlessly ignored as he left it. "Damn that sabre,--and the service
generally!" he growled, as he recovered his balance and tramped to the
window. "I'd almost be willing to quit it as Pigott did if I could see
my way to a moderate competence anywhere out of it. Lawrence was as good
a soldier as we had in the 12th, and, yet, what can you do or say? The
mischief's done." And, beating the devil's tattoo on the window, the
major stood gloomily gazing out over the parade.
"It isn't Lawrence himself I'm so---- Orderly, shut that door!" cried
the chief, whirling around in his chair, "and tell those clerks I want
it kept shut until the adjutant comes; and you stay out on the
porch.--It isn't Lawrence I'm so sorely troubled about, Brooks. He has
ability, and could pick up and do well eventually, but he's utterly
discouraged and swamped. What's to become, though, of that poor child
Ada and his little boy?"
