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My silence implied that I knew it, though I did not feel any brighter, happier or cleaner.

My thanks were few and awkward, for there still hung to the missive a basting thread, and it was as warm as a nestling bird. I bent low--everybody was emotional in those days--kissed the fragrant thing, thrust it into my bosom, and blushed worse than Camille.

"Cockerel, did you say?"

At the door the Colonel gave me a last look. "Good-night, Legs."

"Don't interrupt me, Smith. Yes, Clifton. You're not to reach there to-night--"

"No."

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