The Colonel of the Red Huzzars.

by John Reed Scott.

I

A PICTURE AND A WAGER

It was raining heavily and I fastened my overcoat to the neck as I came down the steps of the Government Building. Pushing through the crowds and clanging electric cars, at the Smithfield Street corner, I turned toward Penn Avenue and the Club, whose home is in a big, old-fashioned, grey-stone building--sole remnant of aristocracy in that section where, once, naught else had been.

For three years I had been the engineer officer in charge of the Pittsburgh Harbor, and "the navigable rivers thereunto belonging"--as my friend, the District Judge, across the hall, would say--and my relief was due next week. Nor was I sorry. I was tired of dams and bridges and jobs, of levels and blue prints and mathematics. I wanted my sword and pistols--a horse between my legs--the smell of gunpowder in the air. I craved action--something more stirring than dirty banks and filthy water and coal-barges bound for Southern markets.

Five years ago my detail would have been the envy of half the Corps.

But times were changed. The Spanish War had done more than give straps to a lot of civilians with pulls; it had eradicated the dry-rot from the Army. The officer with the soft berth was no longer deemed lucky; promotion pa.s.sed him by and seized upon his fellow in the field. I had missed the war in China and the fighting in the Philippines and, as a consequence, had seen juniors lifted over me. Yet, possibly, I had small cause to grumble; for my own gold leaves had dropped upon me in Cuba, to the disadvantage of many who were my elders, and, doubtless, my betters as well. I had applied for active service, but evidently it had not met with approval, for my original orders to report to the Chief of Engineers were still unchanged.

The half dozen "regulars," lounging on the big leather chairs before the fireplace in the Club reception-room, waiting for the dinner hour, gave me the usual familiar yet half indifferent greeting, as I took my place among them and lit a cigar.

"Mighty sorry we're to lose you, Major," said Marmont. "Dinner won't seem quite right with your chair vacant."

"I'll come back occasionally to fill it," I answered. "Meanwhile there are cards awaiting all of you at the Metropolitan or the Army and Navy."

"Then you don't look for an early a.s.signment to the White Elephant across the Pacific?" inquired Courtney.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Hastings, "did you apply for the Philippines?"

"What ails them?" I asked.

"Everything--particularly Chaffee's notion that white uniforms don't suit the climate?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Is that a criticism of your superior officer?" Marmont demanded.

"That is never done in the Army," I answered.

"Which being the case let us take a drink," said Westlake, and led the way to the cafe.

"Looks rather squally in Europe," Courtney observed, as the dice were deciding the privilege of signing the check.

"It will blow over, I fancy," I answered.

"Have you seen the afternoon papers?"

"No."

"Then you don't know the t.i.tian Amba.s.sador has been recalled."

"Indeed! Well, I still doubt if it means fight."

Courtney stroked his grey imperial. "Getting rather near one, don't you think?" he said.

"No closer than France and Turkey were only a short while ago," I answered. "Moreover, in this case, the Powers would have a word to say."

"Yes, they are rather ready to speak out on such occasions; but, unless I'm much mistaken, if the t.i.tians and the Valerians get their armies moving it will take more than talk from the Powers to stop them."

"And it's all over a woman," I observed carelessly.

Courtney gave me a sharp glance. "I thought that was rather a secret,"

he replied.

I laughed. "It's one, at least, that the newspapers have not discovered--yet. But, where did you get it?"

"From a friend; same as yourself," he said, with the suggestion of a smile.

"My dear fellow," I said. "I know more about the Kingdom of Valeria than--well, than your friend and all his a.s.sistants of the State Department."

"I don't recall mentioning the State Department," Courtney replied.

"You didn't. I was honoring your friend by rating him among the diplomats."

He ignored my thrust. "Ever been to Valeria?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Recently?"

"About six years ago."

"Is that the last time?"

"What are you driving at?" I asked.

He answered with another question: "Seen the last number of the London Ill.u.s.trated News?"

"No," I answered.

He struck the bell. "Bring me the London News," he said to the boy.

Opening it at the frontispiece he pushed it across to me.

"Has she changed much since you saw her?" he asked, and smiled.

It was a woman's face that looked at me from the page; and, though it was six years since I had seen it last, I recognized it instantly.

There was, however, a certain coldness in the eyes and a firm set of the lip and jaw that were new to me. But, as I looked, they seemed to soften, and I could have sworn that for an instant the Princess Dehra of Valeria smiled at me most sweetly--even as once she herself had done.

"You seem uncommonly well pleased with the lady," Courtney observed.

I handed back the News.

"You have not answered my question," he insisted.