Part 4 (1/2)
”What's the matter, Sloat?”
”Nothing much. The colonel told me to receive the reveille reports for Hoyt this week. He's on general court-martial.”
”Yes, I know all that. I mean, what are you waiting for?”
”Mr. Jerrold again. There's no report from his company.”
”Have you sent to wake him?”
”No; I'll go myself, and do it thoroughly, too.” And the little major turned sharply away and walked direct to the low range of bachelor quarters, dove under the piazza, and into the green door-way.
Hardly knowing how to explain his action, Chester quickly followed, and in less than a minute was standing in the self-same parlor which, by the light of a flickering match, he had searched two hours before. Here he halted and listened, while Sloat pushed on into the bedroom and was heard vehemently apostrophizing some sleeper:
”Does the government pay you for this sort of thing, I want to know? Get up, Jerrold! This is the second time you've cut reveille in ten days.
Get up, I say!” And the major was vigorously shaking at something, for the bed creaked and groaned.
”Wake up! I say, I'm blowed if I'm going to get up here day after day and have you sleeping. Wake, Nicodemus! Wake, you snoozing, snoring, open-mouthed masher. Come, now; I mean it.”
A drowsy, disgusted yawn and stretch finally rewarded his efforts. Mr.
Jerrold at last opened his eyes, rolled over, yawned sulkily again, and tried to evade his persecutor, but to no purpose. Like a little terrier, Sloat hung on to him and worried and shook.
”Oh, don't! d.a.m.n it, don't!” growled the victim. ”What do you want, anyway? Has that infernal reveille gone?”
”Yes, and you're absent again, and no report from B Company. By the holy poker, if you don't turn out and get it and report to me on the parade I'll spot the whole gang absent, and then no _matinee_ for you to-day, my buck. Come, out with you! I mean it. Hall says you and he have an engagement in town; and 'pon my soul I'll bust it if you don't come out.”
And so, growling and complaining, and yet half laughing, Adonis rolled from his couch and began to get into his clothes. Chester's blood ran cold, then boiled. Think of a man who could laugh like that,--and remember! _When_, how, had he returned to the house? Listen!
”Confound you, Sloat, _I_ wouldn't rout _you_ out in this shabby way.
Why couldn't you let a man sleep? I'm tired half to death.”
”What have you done to tire you? Slept all yesterday afternoon, and danced perhaps a dozen times at the doctor's last night. You've had more sleep than I've had, begad! You took Miss Renwick home before 'twas over, and mean it was of you, too, with all the fellows that wanted to dance with her.”
”That wasn't my fault: Mrs. Maynard made her promise to be home at twelve. You old cackler, that's what sticks in your crop yet. You are persecuting me because they like me so much better than they do you,” he went on, laughingly now. ”Come, now, Sloat, confess, it is all because you're jealous. You couldn't have that picture, and I could.”
Chester fairly started. He had urgent need to see this young gallant,--he was staying for that purpose,--but should he listen to further talk like this? Too late to move, for Sloat's answer came like a shot:
”I bet you you _never_ could!”
”But didn't I tell you I had?--a week ago?”
”Ay, but I didn't believe it. You couldn't show it!”
”Pshaw, man! Look here. Stop, though! Remember, _on your honor_, you never tell.”
”On my honor, of course.”
”Well, there!”
A drawer was opened. Chester heard a gulp of dismay, of genuine astonishment and conviction mixed, as Sloat muttered some half-articulate words and then came into the front room. Jerrold followed, caught sight of Chester, and stopped short, with sudden and angry change of color.