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Updated: June 23, 2025
I'll fly to you in a chariot of fire bearing my flame I am that bold, that brazen, that reckless! For I am not an old maid yet. They've moved the age limit up to thirty. But you can't drill love into me as you drill discipline into armies no, no more than I can argue peace into armies!" For a while, motionless, Lanstron watched the point where she had disappeared.
Fellowship was in the victory, the fellowship which, developed under Partow, who believed that Napoleons and Colossi and gods in the car and all such gentlemen belonged to an archaic farce-comedy, had grown under Lanstron.
Lanstron continued to read to the amazed staff, for Partow's message had looked far into the future. Then there was a P.S., written after the war had begun, on the evening of the day that Marta had gone from tea on the veranda with Westerling to the telephone, in the impulse of her new purpose. "I begin to believe in that dream," he wrote.
"Why?" demanded Partow with one of his shrewd, piercing looks. "She did not say, but I can guess," explained Lanstron. "She must put all her cards on the table; she must tell Westerling all she knows at once. If she tells him piecemeal it might lead to the supposition that she still had some means of communication with the Browns." "Of course, of course!"
I thought that in a week he would tire of the part. But now you must have the whole story. You will listen?" "I should not be fair if I did not, should I?" she replied, with a weary shadow of a smile. To tell the story as Lanstron told it is to have it from the partisan lips of a man speaking for a man out of the depths of a friendship grown into the fibre of youth.
Then I heard your step. Since I became deaf my sense of hearing has really grown keener, just as the blind develop a keener sense of feeling. Eh? eh?" He cupped his hand over his ear in the unctuous enjoyment of his gift of acting. "Yes, Colonel Lanstron, would you like to know what a perfect triumph we're going to pull off in irises next season but, Lanny, you seem in a hurry!"
"Yes, but for you the losses on both sides would have been greater hundreds of thousands greater," concluded the vice-chief. "And to-night I think you helped me to see right; you struck a light in my mind when I was about to forget the law of service." "You see, then, you did hasten the end, Marta," said Lanstron. "Yes, I do see, Lanny!" she whispered.
Blinking as she came out of the darkness into the bright light, with a lock of her dew-sprinkled dark hair free and brushing her flushed cheek, Marta saw the division chiefs of the Browns, after their start when Lanstron spoke her name, all stand at the salute, looking at her rather than at him.
Times have certainly changed officers' hands in their pockets, saying 'if you don't mind' to a man that's insulted the flag! Kicking ain't good enough for that traitor! Ought to hang him yes, sir, hang and draw him!" Lanstron watched the marching column for a time. "Hep-hep-hep! It's the brown of the infantry that counts in the end," he mused. "I liked that wall-eyed giant. He's all man!"
Lanstron, reading more between the lines than in them, understood that as muscles hardened with the new life the old passion was dying and in its place was coming something equally dangerous as a possible force in driving his ardent nature to some excess for the sake of oblivion. Finally, Feller broke out with the truth. "My hair is white now, Lanny," he wrote. "I have aged ten years in these two.
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