This young man⁠—he looks about twenty-nine⁠—hasn’t been to his home, somewhere out West, since he left West Point, six years ago. He hasn’t seen a show in six years. Mexico and the Philippines have kept him busy. His promotion from lieutenant to captain is very recent, and he still wears only one stripe. “I suppose I’ll be a major before I get the other,” he said. “A man can hardly keep up with his rank these days.”

He called our attention to the physical condition of his men.

“You’ve got to be in the pink to go through those exercises without yelling for help,” he said. “These fellas couldn’t have done it a month ago. Now they seldom get tired, though the hours are pretty stiff. Today is a cinch. It’s payday, and there’s a muster soon after lunch. So most of us will get a half holiday and nobody’ll object.”

The captain blew his whistle to indicate that the game was over. His boys quit happily, and we left him after agreeing to show up at his billet in time for lunch.