THE SEVENTH MAJOR.

"I was a-tryin'," Sam once meditatively remarked, up in The Battery, as he straightened himself up after carefully depositing a fresh log upon the blazing fire,—"I was a-tryin' t' figger out how many majors we've got now. Startin' at th' top, thar's three real majors, which are three; then thar be th' surg'n—he bein' also a major likewise—comin' t' four; then th' sargint-major an' drum-major totals her up t' six—an' then in comes Major Larry Callahan, at th' wind-up, makin' sev'n. Sev'n majors! Tol'able gen'rous outfit fur one reg'ment, hain't it?"

Well, yes—I suppose it is; and yet all seven of our majors ably fill their positions, while Major Larry Callahan certainly fills his to the brim.

He never was enlisted, and his name has no place between the heavy leather covers of the paymaster's cherished roll-book, and yet he is just as much a part of the regiment as the colonel commanding, or for that matter, as the adjutant—and everybody knows how big a man a gold-corded adjutant considers himself. Why, I honestly believe that Colonel Elliott—at such times as it seems good to parade the Third, to exhibit the power of the Commonwealth's "Strong Right Arm"—never would think of giving the order to start into motion his seven hundred men unless he first had made sure that Larry was at his post in front of the big bass-drum. "Is Mulcahy in the ranks?" asked Hancock at Gettysburg. "He is? Then let the battle proceed!"—and that rather well illustrates our feelings in regard to our seventh major.

It was two years ago last June when he came to us. We just had topped off a week of hard work in camp by a long, hot parade through the dusty streets of the city, and six of our twelve companies had been dismissed to take trains for their out-of-town stations, while the rest of the regiment, with the drum-corps and the band, had marched up town to the big armory. How he got by the sentry at the door is more than I can tell, but somehow he managed it; I dare say he "sneaked it" in, under cover of the big drum which afterwards became his idol.

Captain Tom Stearns, of "A," had turned his company over to his first sergeant, and stood mopping his forehead with his handkerchief, as he watched his men slowly filing through the door of the drill-hall on their way upstairs to quarters, when he felt a tug at the skirts of his coat and heard a hoarse little voice demanding, "C'n I get a job carryin' de drum—say, can't I, mister? I c'n tote it jus' 's well's dat coon youse got dere, an' I'd match d' rest o' de men better."

The captain looked down, and discovered, about at the level of his belt, a fiery red head, crowned by the ruin of a once-white straw hat; while a snub nose, an enormous mouth, a lavish display of freckles, and a twinkling pair of impish gray eyes made up the prominent features of the face upturned for his inspection.

"How in time did you get in here?" politely asked Stearns, taking the intruder by the ear, and entirely ignoring his request.

"Follied de band, same's youse did. Le' go me ear, will yer! Say, c'n I carry de drum?"

"No, you can't. Now, 'bout face—and march!" replied the captain, releasing the boy's ear. "Look out for the guard at the door, or he'll make a pincushion of you when you go by him."

The ragged little urchin turned away, his face puckering into a mass of wrinkles in which a fair share of the freckles disappeared, dug a dirty fist into each eye, and started towards the door.

"Here, come back for a minute!" called Stearns, who, though dusty, hot, and tired, felt some compunction for his roughness, and in amends meditated the offering of a dime. "What are you crying about?"

"I ain't cryin'; an' I wanted de job—an' I'm hungry," said the boy, stopping and turning about.

"You were crying; and you can't have the job—and if you're hungry, why don't you go home to get a bite to eat, instead of hanging around processions?" said the captain, thrusting his hand into his pocket in search of a peace-offering.

"Ain't got no home t' go to," came the brief but comprehensive reply.

"Haven't, eh? What's your name?"

"Callahan—Larry Callahan," replied the imp, coming a step nearer. "Say, why can't I carry de drum? Dat coon's clo'es would jus' about fit me, an' I sh'd t'ink de fellies would ruther 'sociate wid me dan wid him."

This novel view of the fitness of things seemed to come home with considerable force to the tall captain, for he grinned and said, "Well, I'm not sure that there isn't something in that view of the situation. Come along upstairs with me. I've got to shift out of my uniform, and after that I'll see what I can do for you. I'm hungry myself, and I've a faint suspicion that I'm also thirsty, so I can sympathize with you to a certain extent. Come along, 'Major'—we'll go foraging later."

In the company rooms there was tumult, as there always is when sixty men find themselves jammed into a confined space and simultaneously making the attempt to change from the blue of the soldier to the plainer and better-fitting costume of the civilian. Belt buckles clattered, locker doors slammed, and now and again a stray bar of the latest popular song brought forth either a rousing chorus or else a roar of derision loud enough to drown all other sounds. Conversation, though rather fragmentary, was plentiful and generously spiced, for the week in camp had supplied the men with a brand-new stock of gags and guys, and a torrent of chaff, in which no one escaped, was raging unchecked.

"Who'll get the grand bounce for running the guard last Thursday night?" roared a voice, just as the captain and his new-found acquaintance reached the door of the company quarters; and, "Smith—Private Smith!" came back the answering yell.

"Yes, and the captain's got a recruit for your place, me boy," said a man standing near the door of the equipment-room, catching sight of Stearns' guest. "Come here, Smithy, and get onto the new un that's going to stuff out your uniform."

Stearns caught this last remark and smiled at it, for he had found recent occasion to "read the riot act" to one Private Smith, and he remembered having said that he might feel compelled to give that unruly warrior's uniform to some man more worthy of filling it.

In the snug officers' dressing-room the two lieutenants were engaged in freeing themselves from their heavy, uncomfortable dress-coats. Both looked up as the captain entered, and both laughed when he said, "Gentlemen, I have the honor of presenting Major Larry Callahan, who has inspected the regiment, and expresses complete satisfaction at its apparent efficiency. He more especially dwells upon the soldierly bearing of the drum-corps, though he criticises the complexion of the musician at the forward end of the boomer-drum, making the point that the presence of this black sheep among our tuneful lambs is in doubtful taste. I might add that he aspires to the position himself. Harry," to the second lieutenant, "you're smoking a cigarette! It's a nasty and often fatal habit—and you may give me one. It's the first article of war that a junior officer always must set 'em up for his superiors."

Stearns lighted the cigarette which this gentle hint brought forth from his subaltern's case, hung his heavy helmet upon a projecting gas-burner, and began leisurely to strip himself of his trappings.

"Where did you get it?" asked the senior lieutenant, nodding at Larry, and then turning to deposit his sword and belt in his locker.

"He introduced himself to me, down in the hall," replied the captain, sighing contentedly as he flung his coat, with its row of jingling marksman's medals, across the nearest chair. "I'm to have the pleasure of his company at lunch, as soon as I can get into street costume. I crave food, and—by the Great White Label!—I crave pure, sparkling, cold water, or anything cold and wet," and he softly hummed to himself,

"Then you'll not come over to the club with us?" asked the younger lieutenant, ruefully. "I know it seems a journey—way across town on a day like this—but we'd counted on your coming. Westbrook, of the Fourth, is going to meet us, and possibly Van Sickles will be there. Can't you fix it?"

"No, not to-day, boys," said the captain, taking from his locker a straw hat and placing it upon his head, with a mental comparison between its weight and that of his stiff, spiked helmet; "I can't do it to-day. I'm going to the hotel for a bite, and then I'm bound straight for home—and a tub. Well, so-long! Remember, I must see you both here to-morrow afternoon—say, at half-past four. Come on, Major," and with a nod to his lieutenants he left the room.

The two younger men winked at each other, when the captain had disappeared, and the junior found occasion to remark, "Isn't he the gaudy old crank! Always picking up some curio or other—but this last 'find' of his comes near beating 'em all, eh?"

"It's one of his original ways of amusing himself," said the other, stepping to the mirror to adjust his tie, "and I dare say he enjoys it—but it isn't every one that could afford to go 'round in that way, with a dirty little ruffian tagging along at his heels. Come, Harry, aren't you ready yet? Well, get a gait on you, then—we don't want to keep Westbrook in agony any longer than necessary."

Over at the hotel, Stearns put his guest through a vigorous course of soap-and-towel exercise, and then ushered him into the gentlemen's café. To be sure, the waiters stared a bit when the tall captain and his dilapidated follower took possession of a table; but Stearns was a frequent and liberal patron, and so—in spite of the exceedingly doubtful social standing of his companion—his order received prompt and willing attention. In the attack upon the food the honors were easy, but I'm reasonably sure that Larry gave good account of himself, for I've had the privilege of seeing him eat, in his company mess at camp, and so I'm able to vouch for his ability as a trencher-man.

So long as anything eatable remained on the table, conversation languished, but when the last crumb had disappeared—a matter to which Larry probably attended—the captain called for a glass of Kümel-and-ice, lighted a cigar, and said, "Well, Major Callahan, I trust that good digestion may be pleased to attend your appetite. How are you feeling—well lined?"

"By Jinks!" responded his guest, drawing his forefinger across his throat, "me tank's loaded 'way up t' here. Dat was dandy grub, de bes' I ever got."

"Can't you go something more?" asked Stearns, much gratified at the spirit in which his hospitality had been received.

"No-o, I'm 'fraid I couldn't fin' de room," said the little fellow, slowly and with an air of deep regret. "I'd like t' 'commodate yer, but me 'commodations is all took up."

"If that's the case, then," said the captain, raising his glass to inspect the icy film with which its exterior had become coated, "we'll indulge in a gentlemanly chat. You're sure there's nothing else you want?"

"Well, I smokes," was Larry's suggestive response to this last question, "an' if youse 've got a cig'rette—"

"No, you don't smoke," put in the captain with some emphasis; "at least, you don't smoke here."

"Jus' 's yer say, o' course," replied his guest. "I don't care much 'bout it—on'y I t'ought p'r'aps 'twould be sort o' comp'ny t' yer."

"Well, it wouldn't be," said Stearns, pushing his chair a trifle farther away from the table. "And now, Major, suppose you tell me something about yourself. You say you've no home—what's the reason?"

The boy took a big gulp of water, hesitated for an instant, and then—catching the kindly expression in the captain's eye—rested his elbows upon the table, and told his story: how he never had known a father; how his mother had been sent away for a long term at the women's reformatory; and how he himself had been consigned to the fostering care of an "Institution," but had managed to evade the officer who had been sent to conduct him to it.

"I s'pose I'd oughter ha' went t' de 'Home,'" admitted Larry, as he concluded his brief and pitiful life's history; "but, hones', I couldn't stan' it t' live de way dem kids does. Dey gets dere t'ree meals a day, an' has a place t' sleep—but dat's de whole of it. An' as fer fun, why, what does dey know 'bout fun? Nothin'! Jus' youse look at 'em sometime, an' see what a peepy-looking lot dey is. Huh! dey ain't got no guts at all!" and with this inelegant summing-up of the moral effects of charity-rearing he dismissed as absurd any possibility of his subjecting himself to its tender mercies.

Captain Stearns heard the boy through, and then for a few minutes sat thoughtfully smoking. Finally he fixed his eyes upon the little gamin, and abruptly asked, "Larry, are you honest?"

"Yessir," replied the boy promptly, meeting unfalteringly the captain's glance, "Yessir, I'm dead on de square, an' if 'twasn't dat I'm tryin' t' keep clear o' de 'Home,' I'd jus' 's lives walk up t' any copper in town."

"That's business," said Stearns, "and I'm glad to hear you say so. Now, I'm going to give you some money, to keep you running until tomorrow,"—with this he drew out a handful of change,—"and if you're playing a square game with me you'll meet me tomorrow noon, at the armory. Ask for Captain Stearns, and they'll let you in. I'm not sure that I can do anything for you—I can't today, at any rate—but we can talk over the situation. Is it a go?"

"Yep, I'll be wid youse," said the boy, hesitatingly taking the money which his entertainer pushed across to him. "A quarter, an' ten's t'irty-five—an' t'ree nick'ls is a ha'f!" he went on, inspecting the tokens of the captain's munificence. "Gee-cricketty! w'at'll I do wid all de wealt'? Somebody'll be marryin' me fer me forchune, 'f I ain't careful!"

"You needn't spend it all, unless you have to," said Stearns; "and if you have any of it left, when you meet me tomorrow, I shall think all the better of you. See here," he went on, yielding to a sudden whim, and tossing over a bill as he spoke, "suppose you put on a little style, and pay for this lunch of ours!"

Larry's eyes twinkled as he clutched at the bill, and his mouth twisted itself into a grin of alarming proportions, but in an instant he assumed an air of unruffled composure, and beckoning to the waiter he inquired, "Sa-ay, cully, w'at's de taxes on dese 'freshments?"

The astonished waiter, check in hand, for a moment stood glancing back and forth from the captain to the ragged but unabashed urchin. But Larry, waving the bill in his face, demanded, "Have youse b'en drinkin'? I axed youse de damage on de whole layout!"

"Yas, sah," at length said the bewildered colored man, laying the check before the boy, "I heerd yo'!"

"Den dat's all right," said Larry, picking up the check and glancing at it, only to break out with, "W'at! Two dollars an' a quarter? Why, I seen a place, on'y dis mornin', where dey gives youse a square meal—'de bes' in de city,' it said on de sign—fer twenty cents!"

"I think the check is correct," put in Stearns, smiling at the indignant expression on Larry's face and the disgusted look of the waiter. "Pay up—you're not being cheated."

After matters had been adjusted satisfactorily, the captain rose, held out his hand to his guest, and said, "Well, my boy, I must be going. Hope you enjoyed your lunch as well as I did mine. You'll drop in on me tomorrow, eh?"

"Sure!" replied the major, as he hunted for a pocket secure enough for the retaining of his suddenly acquired riches. "T'anks fer de grub, an' I'm 'bliged fer all dis mon'. An' say," coaxingly, "youse must have pull enough fer t' get me de place on de drum."

"I'm afraid I can't promise you that," said the captain, stopping as they reached the street, "for the drum-corps is rather outside my command. Well, I turn off here—goodbye, until tomorrow noon, Major."

The next forenoon Captain Tom varied his customary Sunday routine by taking a stroll through a quarter of the city with which he had but slight acquaintance, and casually dropping in at the station house of the precinct wherein Larry claimed former residence. A short chat with the lieutenant behind the rail brought out a number of unedifying facts about the lad's parentage, but Stearns found that his protégé had kept to the truth in telling his story; and so, considerably encouraged, he took a cab and went to meet his appointment at the armory.

Promptly at noon Major Larry reported with an elaborate sweep of the hand evidently meant to represent a military salute, and with a most expectant grin upon his mobile features.

"On time to a minute, that's proper," said Captain Tom, drawing out the sliding book-shelf of his desk, and utilizing it as a resting-place for his long legs. "Sit down, Larry, and we'll have a conference of the powers. How did your 'wealt'' hold out?"

Silently, but with a splendid air of pride, the boy drew a handful of coins from his pocket, came over to the captain's desk, and spread out his capital for inspection. Stearns counted the collection, and found that it aggregated eighty-two cents.

"H'm! so you're a young Napoleon of finance?" he said, as the little fellow put back the money into his pocket. "Well, tell me how you managed it."

"It was dis way," explained Larry, balancing himself on the back of a chair: "t' start wid, I had de ha'f youse gin me; an' den I went into de papey biz, and sol' enough t' make twenty cents more. Now, dat was 'velvet'—dem two dimes was—an' so I went t' pitchin' pennies wid de Pie Alley gang, an' I win t'irty more, makin' an even skimole. Well, I 'stood' on dat, 'cause I wasn't takin' no chances; an' I've got de stack, 'ceptin' t'ree cents I give Reddy Burns fer a shine, and fifteen w'at I blew in on me breakfus'. I slep' wid Reddy las' night, y' know, an' so I paid 'im fer me lodgin' by lettin' 'im black me boots—which wasn't no snap fer 'im, 'cause one o' dem boots is a cloth 'un, an' he kep' shinin' fer an hour 'fore he c'd get it t' glitterin'."

"Where did you get your supper?" inquired Stearns, leaning back in his chair and laughing at Larry's report of his business transactions.

"Oh, I didn't want much supper, 'cause it was so late when you an' me was eatin'," returned the major, jingling his coins in his pocket, "but I matched wid Slinky Smith fer a piece o' pie, down in de alley, an stuck'm. Say, I'll give back dat ha'f, if youse want it—an' how 'bout de drum?"

Well, Larry failed to get the position his soul coveted—at least, at that time—but when, after being in executive session for more than an hour, the Conference of the Powers adjourned, he had been appointed "Company Kid" for "A"; and on the Monday night following he duly was introduced to the men, and was installed formally in office.

From that day until now his popularity steadily has grown greater—"and for good cause." He has an inexhaustible fund of Irish wit, by but one generation removed from The Sod, and sharpened to the keenest edge by the sort of life he has led. He is a tower of strength in his command of modern Arabic, that weird patois which reaches its full power and beauty only in the streets of a great city. He can sing, after a fashion, and his ability to "do a dance act" is unquestioned, for when he executes the steps it is with an air of impressive earnestness and solemnity that never fails to bring down the house. In fact, since his advent, when we in the staff-room hear a yell of delight come echoing down the stairs and along the corridors, we grin sympathetically one to another, and say, "Larry's at it again—the little devil!"

He is clever, too, at all sorts of things over which the volunteer hates to fuss, and many a dime comes his way in return for his skill in polishing buttons and brasses for the lazy men of the company—and "A," with fifty-eight enlisted men upon its rolls, boasts of an aggregate of fifty-seven who always are "in fatigue," the remaining one being the tireless first-sergeant.

Yes, it was a great and ruby-lettered day for "A"—the day when Larry came to it—and in all its long history its quarters never were kept so neat and clean, and its officers and men never were entertained so well as they have been since he began his genial reign. And it was a great day for the regiment when our "seventh major" joined—for Stearns' nickname of "Major" Callahan has been adopted officially—because Larry's fame has gone abroad in the land, and his deeds have added new lustre to the name of the Third.

Larry had been with us a little over a year when his great opportunity came to him. It was on a certain night when "A" had made arrangements for a smoke-talk, up in quarters—for Captain Stearns had met at his club one Lieutenant Hackett, of the regular cavalry, whom he had induced, after much patient persuasion, to come over to the armory and informally talk to the boys on the delights and discomforts of chasing Indians around through the Bad Lands.

Now, much as Larry respected his own corps, he held the regulars in even higher esteem, for he always had heard "The Army" held up as a pattern of all that is, in a military sense, good-and-holy and generally worthy of imitation by the hard-working and much-cursed-at volunteer. So when it came to his ears that a regular officer—and one, too, who actually had seen holes shot through people!—really was going to honor his domain by his presence, he went to work with even greater energy than he had displayed at inspection time, and accomplished a house-cleaning such as would have warmed the heart of any New England matron to witness.

First he swept the floor, and then he dusted from the furniture the dust which had been raised by that operation, and then he swept up again the dust which the dusting had caused to return to the carpet—and then he paused, reflecting that, in the nature of things, he might continue this alternation forever unless he stopped. So, after a final dusting, he bent his energies to the arrangement of the chairs, marshalling them in ranks of military rigidity, and squinting critically along each row—muttering, "Back in de center, dere!" or "Up on de left, dad-gast-yer-shoulder-blades!" as he rectified the alignment. Then he polished the glasses of the pictures which form the nondescript art-gallery of the company; and finally he put the crowning touch to his afternoon's work by brushing the plush cushions of the great, carved chair in which the captain seats himself on occasions of state and ceremony.

He had been so busy that he had allowed his supper-hour to slip by unheeded, and when he happened to glance up at the clock he gave a low whistle of surprise, and said to himself, "Quarter pas' sev'n? Wow! how de time's be'n humpin' along? Well, I s'pose I might's well skip me grub now: de boys'll be showin' up in less 'n a shake."

He had given one last critical glance around the room and was turning towards the door, when his eye fell upon the great, wrought-iron lamp which the company rifle-team had won, a couple of years before, in a match with "K," of the Fourth, and suddenly he remembered that the oil in it nearly had been burned out. Now, the boys of "A" regard that lamp with particular affection, because it was won in a contest to which they had been egged-on by a series of peculiarly exasperating events; and it has become a time-honored custom of the company to have the lamp a-glow on every occasion when its members are assembled by night. So Major Larry, knowing that the absence of its cheerful rays would rouse the wrath of the company kickers, picked up the heavy mass of iron, and lugged it into the equipment-room.

Here he filled the lamp, polished the chimney, trimmed the wick, lighted it, and had raised his burden to carry it back to its place—when, in some unexplained way, he lost his grip upon it, and the whole heavy affair went crashing down upon the floor. In an instant the scattered oil was in a blaze, and as Larry stood there, horrified at his mishap, he saw the creeping tongues of flame beginning to lick their way up the varnished woodwork of the nearest lockers. In two jumps he was at the door: a dozen steps more brought him, yelling "Fire!" at the top-pitch of his voice, out into the corridor—and then there came to him a thought that almost stilled the beating of his heart.

"Good Gawd!" he gasped, stopping short in his tracks, "dey's five hundred round o' ca'tridge an' a ten-pound canister o' powder in de nex' locker to de one dat's burnin'—an' de door's locked! Oh, what'll I do—what'll I do!"

Well, here's what he did do—and we have fallen into the way of believing that no man could have done much better work. On the wall of the company room, in the midst of a collection of flint-lock muskets and other antiquated contrivances for achieving wild shots, hung a heavy axe, a relic of the ante-bellum days when "A"—at that time an independent company—added dignity to its parades by maintaining a small but ferocious-looking pioneer corps. Rushing in from the hallway, Larry tore this long-disused implement from its hooks, and dashed with it back into the equipment-room. By this time the flames had gained a fair start, and the blazing woodwork was crackling merrily, while the air was heavy and suffocating from the smoke of the burning oil and varnish.

With a single blow of the axe Larry sent the flimsy locker-door crashing from its hinges, and then, stooping down, he felt around for the powder can. The locker was empty!

"Yah! yer jay," he snarled at himself, as the smoke choked him; "yer poor, dam' jay—it's de nex' one!" and he snatched up the axe, swung it again, and splintered the burning door of the adjoining locker.

This time he hit his mark, for after an instant of frantic groping in the thick smoke, he got his hands upon the canister and flung it far from him, out into the room beyond. Then, by an effort almost superhuman, he dragged out the heavy, wooden case of cartridges, staggered with it through the flame and smoke—and fell in a dead faint across it, just as he cleared the threshold. And there, not five seconds later, the armorer found him, when he came rushing into the room with a line of stand-pipe hose, by the agency of which the blaze speedily was conquered.

Poor little major! His hands and face were cruelly burned, his thick crop of curly, red hair was wofully singed, and he had inhaled smoke enough to demoralize utterly his breathing-machinery. The firemen—for whom, upon hearing Larry's shout of alarm, the armorer had stopped to telephone—tenderly bore the lad downstairs to the staff-room; and just before the first of "A's" men strolled into the building an ambulance rolled away from the door, bearing the still unconscious form of the company kid.

Around the armory, that night, conversation was carried on in rather quiet tones, and nobody talked much except of Larry and his heroism. As soon as Stearns came in he was told of what had happened, and sending immediately for a cab he drove off post-haste to the hospital, leaving his lieutenants to receive his Army guest. In half an hour he was back again, with word that Larry, though badly burned and in great pain, was in no immediate danger—at which bit of news there came an audible sigh of relief from the men who had crowded around him. And then some one sung out "Hooray!" and the rest came in with a shout that set the window panes to rattling.

Lieutenant Hackett was unfortunate in his audience that evening, for the boys—though they listened with studied politeness to his remarks—had something else upon their minds. But he got as much applause as any one could wish, when—at the close of his talk—he said, "Congress awards a Medal of Honor to those in the Army who perform deeds of exceptional bravery, and I can recall a long list of those who have received the decoration; but I wish to say that I can call to mind no instance of purer grit than that displayed today by your unlucky little comrade."

It certainly seemed a long time before Larry came back to us, but one night he turned up in our midst, as happy as ever and nine or ten degrees prouder than a colonel on the Governor's staff—for Stearns had fitted him out with a complete drum-corps uniform, made expressly for him, and Colonel Elliott had used his influence to make for his especial benefit a vacancy at the advance-end of the big drum. The affairs of the regiment ran more smoothly after his return, and I can remember the change in the aspect of "A's" men—for Larry was himself again, and funnier than ever.

But there was still more glory awaiting him. About two weeks after he had "re-joined," we had a battalion-drill in the big hall, and after it a dress parade. The companies had got wind of what was coming, and the ranks were full. It was Larry's first appearance with the drum-corps, and when the field music "sounded-off" along the line, the air with which he stepped out lacked little of being superb.

The adjutant had received the reports and published the orders, when the colonel, in a low tone, said a word or two to him which caused him to face about and walk along the front of the battalion to the spot where Larry was standing, stiff as a post, among the musicians. In a moment he returned, bringing the bewildered lad with him, and then the colonel stepped a pace forward to meet him, and pinned upon his breast a bronze Maltese cross, inscribed:

"A" Co., 3rd Infantry TO Larry Callahan FOR DISTINGUISHED BRAVERY.

And beside this simple decoration he fastened the regimental badge, brilliant with its glittering gold and bright enamel—a tribute from the officers of the field and staff.

Of course the colonel made a little speech, but it was a short one and the words were simple. As he finished he shook hands with the boy, and then brought the battalion to a "carry," after which he called out, "Present: arms!"

Up with a snap came the long line of rifles; down drooped the colors until their golden fringes touched the floor; the flashing blades of the officers rose and fell—and little Larry Callahan had been saluted by the crack regiment of the Old Commonwealth!

"Now, adjutant," said Colonel Elliott, when the line again stood at attention, "just take Major Larry to the left of the line and march him along the front to the right, so that all the men can see him. Chin in, Larry, my boy—and keep a stiff upper lip!"

The boy said never a word, but saluted and then started off with the adjutant. For a time discipline went into eclipse: the men yelled "Hi! Hi!" and thumped their rifle-butts upon the floor, until the great hall shook to its very foundations—while the officers not only neglected to check the uproar, but even went so far as to help in swelling it.

Larry stood it all like a Spartan, tramping along with eyes to the front and head well up, until he came abreast of the center, where "A" stood in line, with the colors. But here he broke down, hid his face behind the adjutant's arm, and sobbed as though his heart would burst, when the sixty men—his friends and comrades, every one of them—broke into a wild yell of applause as he came before them.

Well, that ended the ovation; for Captain Stearns, seeing at a glance that the strain had been too heavy for the boy to bear, raised his hand in a warning gesture to his men, picked up the little hero, swung him up upon his shoulder, and marched with him straight along the line and then out of the hall, leaving his company to take care of itself as best it might. And yet, so far as my knowledge goes, Colonel Elliott never has taken the slightest notice of this most un-military proceeding of the captain's!

CONCERNING THE VALUE OF SLEEP