The shock to the Sixteenth’s credulity would not have been altogether that Swinnerton was trying to cut a serious figure; it would have sprung from the fact that the hands he was holding were those of Mary Smith--_the_ Mary Smith, the regiment called her, because every youngster in the three-regiment post of Fort Robertson had vainly dreamed the dream that absurd little Swinnerton was here actually living, and which to him was no dream at all. That night when the lights were on in the officers’ Pullman, the Incorrigibles were sitting in the smoking-compartment over a last pipe, and Fredericks said: “No use talking, war or no war, these sudden trapesings to the antipodes are bad for family life--blamed bad, and I’m glad I’m not in it. Go to it, Swinney; but for Heaven’s sake don’t be irreverent. It’s no time for it.” Swinnerton had puffed out his cheeks to abnormal rotundity. He did this near the point of a story or when he was excited. It served to heighten effects. “I think I ought to tell you, fellows, first of all,” he began bluntly, “that I--I’m leaving my heart behind, too.” Gallipoli burst into raucous laughter, and Fredericks chuckled expectantly. Swinnerton’s face contorted in puzzlement. “Well,” he said aggressively, “what’s funny about that?” “_You_ are, Swinney,” said Merton; “that’s all.” “In the first place,” began Gallipoli, didactically, “you haven’t any heart in the ordinary romantic acceptation. One of your infernal explorative incisions would disclose a two-foot layer of healthy fat, and then”--he patted Swinnerton affectionately on the pudgy shoulder--“a core of pure gold, perhaps, and you would have to conclude that it was all heart; but that, unfortunately, is not the sort of anatomical monstrosity to offer a lady.” Swinnerton shook him off. “Be serious, can’t you?” he said. “I am.” “Manifestly absurd,” grinned Merton. “Get your banjo and sing that song about the chap they hired to get into the cage with the lion. You know--the one with the beller in the chorus.” “That’s better than your fourth-dimension joke,” urged Fredericks. “Go on.” Swinnerton was experiencing what was rare with him, anger. “Do you people imagine,” he asked, “that because a man goes about six days in the seven making a silly ass of himself for the happiness of humanity that he pines to be placed beyond the pale of all that is beautiful and wholesome in life? I _ask_ you.” His round eyes snapped. His quirks of hair fairly trembled. Secretly the three were wary of Swinnerton. They feared some colossal hoax, some trap. The suspicion that he was serious did not come. “Postulate one,” growled Merton, guardedly. “Grind out the logic. We do _not_ think this thing.” “If a good woman is blind enough to intrust her heart to me, is there any reason why I, of all men, shouldn’t accept it?”