On the hearth before the wood fire rested a pile of plates, also
Indiablue, and on the mantel over the grate stood a row of bottles
adapting
themselves, like all good foreigners, to the rigors of our climate.
Add a pair of silver candelabra with candles,--the colonel despised
gas,--dark red curtains drawn close, three or four easy chairs, a few
etchings and sketches loaned from my studio, together with a modest
sideboard at the end of the L, and you have the salient features of
a room so inviting and restful that you wanted life made up of one
long dinner, continually served within its hospitable walls.
But I hear the colonel calling down the back stairs:--
"Not a minute over eighteen, Chad. You ruined those ducks last Sunday."
The next moment he had me by both hands.
"My dear Major, I am pa'alized to think I kep' you waitin'. Just up
from my office. Been workin' like a slave, suh. Only five minutes to
dress befo' dinner. Have a drop of sherry and a dash of bitters, or
shall we wait for Fitzpatrick? No? All right! He should have been here
befo' this.
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