e general result being a large number of closely
written and finely torn scraps in the waste-basket. Then coatless,
collarless, with open vest and hair disarranged in the manner
traditional among love-sick youths, he would pour mournful airs from a
flute.

The major complained--rather frequently for a man who had spent years on
the Plains--of drafts from the front windows, which windows he finally
kept closed most of the time, thus saving Mrs. Wittleday the annoyance
which would certainly have resulted from the noise made by the earnest
but unskilled amateur.

For the major himself, however, neither windows nor doors could afford
relief; and when, one day, the sergeant accidentally overturned a heavy
table, which fell upon the flute and crushed it, the major enjoyed the
only happy moments that were his during the week.

The week drew very near its close. The major had, with a heavy but
desperate heart, told stories, sung songs, brought up tactical points
for discussion--he even waxed enthusiastic in favor of a run through
Europe, he, of course, to bear all the expenses; but the subaltern
remained faithful and obdurate.

Finally, the morning of the last day arrived, and the lieutenant, to the
major's surprise and delight, appeared at the table with a very resigned
air.

"Major," said he, "I wouldn't mention it under any other circumstances,
but--I saved your life once?"

"You did, my boy. God bless you!" responded the major, promptly.

"Well, now I want to ask a favor on the strength of that act. I'll never
ask another. It's no use for me to try to write to her--the harder I try
the more contemptible my words appear. Now, what I ask, is this: _you_
write me a rough draft of what's fit to send to such an incomparable
being, and I'll copy it and send it over. I don't expect any answer--all
I want to do is to throw myself away on her, but I want to do it
handsomely, and--hang it, I don't know how. Write just as if you were
doing it for yourself. Will you do it?"

The major tried to wash his heart out of his throat with a sip of
coffee, and succeeded but partially; yet the appealing look of his
favorite, added to the unconscious pathos of his tone, restored to him
his self-command, and he replied:

"I'll do it, Fred, right away."

"Don't spoil your breakfast for it; any time this morning will do," said
the lieutenant, as the major arose from the table. But the veteran
needed an excuse for leaving his breakfast u