's words. For a moment he stood
irresolute; then walked quietly toward the group.

"I couldn't help hearing you, Major Bustead," he said, in a voice
pleasant and under perfect control. "I gather you were referring to me."

"I was, sir," said the major defiantly.

"And why should I be sent to Coventry, or exchanged, may I ask?" Barry's
voice was that of an interested outsider.

"Because," stuttered the Major, "I consider, sir, that--that--you have
been guilty of a piece of damnable impertinence toward your Commanding
Officer. I never heard anything like it in my life. Infernal cheek, I
call it, sir."

While the major was speaking, Barry stood listening with an air of
respectful attention.

"I wonder!" he said, after a moment's thought. "If I thought I had been
impertinent, I should at once apologise. But, sir, do you think it is
part of my duty to allow any man, even my Commanding Officer, to--pardon
the disgusting metaphor, it is not so disgusting as the action
complained of--to spit in my soup, and take it without protest? Do you,
sir?"

"I--you--" The major grew very red in the face. "You need to learn your
place in this battalion, sir."

"I do," said Barry, still preserving his quiet voice and manner. "I
want to learn--I am really anxious to learn it. Do you mind answering
my question?" His tone was that of a man who is earnestly but quite
respectfully seeking information from a superior officer.

"Your question, sir?" stuttered the major, "your--your--question. Damn
your question, and yourself too."

The major turned abruptly away. Barry heard him quite unmoved, stood
looking after him in silence a moment or two, then, shaking his head,
with a puzzled expression on his face, moved slowly away from the group.

"Oh, my aunt Caroline," breathed Sally into his friend Hopeton's ear,
resting heavily meanwhile against his shoulder. "What a score! What a
score!"

"A bull, begad! a clean bull!" murmured Hopeton, supporting his friend
out of the room as he added, "A little fresh air, as a preventative of
vertigo, as the old doc says, eh, Sally."

"Good Lord, is he just a plain ass, or what?" inquired young Booth, his
eye following Barry down the room.

"Ass! A mule, I should say. And one with a good lot of kick in him,"
replied Captain Train. "I don't know that I care for that kind of an
animal, though."

Before many hours had passed, the whole battalion had received with
undiluted joy an account of the in