subject tonight; the men had got the captain talking on the topic of an
officer's life, and they had just reached the items of his expenses. I
had never particularly thought of this side of the matter before; I knew
that an officer is technically a gentleman and must dress as such, but
that his pay is so small, his perquisites so few, and his necessary
uniforms so many, I had not realized. To tell the truth, the little group
of us who listened were really rather shocked that these men who work so
hard for the nation are under such burdens. The captain perceived it, and
for his own interest suddenly turned the tables on us.

"I have been rather frank, gentlemen," he said. "Now I know your expenses
are such as you choose to make them; but would you mind telling me how
your incomes compare with mine?"

The question was perfectly fair, for the men had been pumping him; and
they responded at once. "I count on eight thousand yearly from my
factory," said one. The next said that his salary was six. The third,
with a little embarrassed laugh, admitted that he earned ten thousand.
And the next said that last year he cleaned up forty thousand dollars. As
you can imagine, these were all men older than the average rookie. They
wear their uniforms badly, some of them, being no longer lithe and
lissome; and yet the forty thousand dollar man was lean and hard as an
Indian. I had so far known him only as a sportsman who loved to talk
about big game. The captain, as he listened, nodded gravely at each
statement, and when the last had spoken turned his eye on me. I could
only tell him the truth--twelve thousand as my salary, and perhaps an
equal amount on the side.

He drew a long breath. "Well, gentlemen, you have my congratulations. On
the other hand, I'm not sorry to have told you these facts about army
life. It's well that you civilians should understand conditions. As for
myself, I went into the service with my eyes open, and I'm not yet ready
to change it."

His eye rather lingered on me. I have the impression that he's acutely
conscious of my presence whenever I'm about. Is that Vera's doing? Do you
suppose she's got him too?

Love from

DICK.

LETTER FROM VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER
FRANCES

Plattsburg Post, Thursday, Sept. 21.

DEAR FRANCES:--

I wish I hadn't come. Two of them are in earnest! Lieutenant Pe