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Updated: June 15, 2025
Twice she had been asked to Sunday dinner at their house, and had joyously gone and remembered it as joyously for months afterward. Now that she was out in the light of partial day again, in the Children's Room, she ran across both of them every little while in her errands upstairs; and once Mrs. De Guenther, gentle, lorgnetted and gray-clad, had been shown over the Children's Room.
The gray-clad upper-servant, and two or three ladies, and a nobleman with a small chin-beard, and several others, joined them; of those who had sat close to Garnon, only the man in the black tunic with the scarlet badge hung back. He stood still, by the break in the table, watching Garnon of Roxor walk away from him.
A bunch of gray-clad men were against the wall, disarmed and helpless, even their tongues silent, and three watchful troopers guarded them, revolvers in hand. All stared at me as I stepped forward. "Where is the sergeant?" "At the stable, sir." "Oh, yes; hope he has as good luck there got them all?" "Every bloomin' one of 'em, sir. They was quite nice about it."
Now she sent the ball flying toward Susan Atwell with a sure aim that made the onlookers gasp with admiration. Before the gray-clad girls could comprehend just how it had all happened, their opponents had scored. But this was only the beginning of things. Buoyant over their initial gain, the black and scarlet girls played as though inspired and soon the score stood 8 to 0 in their favor.
"Yah!" sneered an exultant voice from the ranks of the military school. "That's the fine Captain Prescott we've heard about!" Tom Reade, in togs, was standing among the Gridley subs at the side line. Tom recognized, as did all the Gridley boys, the voice of Phin Drayne. "Yes!" bellowed Tom, facing the gray-clad group.
Once more, this time in fatigue uniform, the turnback had to fall in at supper formation. With the rest he marched away to cadet mess ball, found his place at table and occupied it. During the meal merry conversation ran riot around the tables. Haynes was the only man among the gray-clad cadets who was left absolutely alone.
"For the sins I may commit, I humbly apologize. Whatever it was your sagebrush scribes perpetrated I didn't write it, therefore we should not quarrel. A few details on your trip to-day will be of interest, Mr. Jewel." Johnny grinned. "There ain't any details. We just flew till we got here, and then we lit." "We?" The gray-clad one lifted a finely formed eyebrow. "My mechanic and me." "Ah."
Of course, the Army cheermaster came back with a stirring West Point yell, but one spectator, behind the side lines, turned and bawled at the Army cheermaster: "That's right, young man! Anything on earth to keep up your crowd's courage!" In the laugh that followed many a gray-clad cadet joined simply because he could not help himself.
And I had been told that water runs always beneath the bridge, that the deepest roses fade, that Time's white beard keeps growing to his knee. These phrases of wisdom I had heard and others. But what mattered them to me when my long young life lay stretched before me? Nor did the revolving stars concern me nor the moon, spring with its gaudy brush, nor gray-clad winter.
His beautiful, stately mother, who, in spite of her gray hair, had always seemed but little older than himself, vanished as mysteriously from his sight on a thrilling morning when there were many waving red flags and much hurried marching by of gray-clad troops.
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