In his uniform he presented a figure to admire, as did most of the young officers aboard. His back was broad, his legs straight, and, though not bulky, gave one the impression that he was graciously and strongly made. One may read much from a man’s legs. More especially is this so in uniform and leather puttees. Indications of character are resident in a calf, but more especially in knees and ankles. These things are concealed by the trousers of civilian life. Some day an astute judge of character will write a monograph on masculine legs and revolutionize the appraisal of men. The captain’s legs were a credit to the United States, the army, and himself. He was not handsome, nor was his face delicate with overmuch intellectual labor. If you had met him in a crowd you would have said immediately that here was a young man who could play a bully game of football. That was the impression his features gave—of ability to play a rough game splendidly. It was not the face of a pugilist nor of a society man. It was the face of an average young American of the class which goes to college, acquires enough education to make him easy in the presence of gentlemen, and upon which to base a greater success in life than had been possible to his father who came before him. When you looked at him you thought in physical terms before you considered his possible mentality. There was nothing dull about him; there were indications of a reasonable amount of good nature, and some intolerance, and much of boyishness. His attention was equally divided between France and biscuits. A young woman just in front of him turned and looked up at him. “Here comes something,” she said, pointing. “Dirigible,” he replied, following the direction of her finger. The dirigible buzzed out to the vessel, looked it over, and evidently with satisfied mind turned and hurried away toward shore again.... “There’s a convoy or something,” said the young woman. The captain was interested. “Probably coastwise ships coming down from England. Six of them, aren’t there?... And see all those other little boats in there. Must be close to the harbor.” “We’re slowing down.... See, there’s that little boat like a tug with a cannon up in front. It’s signaling us.” “Pilot, probably.” The vessel lost headway and everybody watched the pilot come aboard as if it were some strange phenomenon—as it was to all but a few. “I wonder if we’ll be allowed to cable home that we have arrived?... What do you think, Captain Ware?” “Haven’t the least idea in the world. Don’t see why not, though, Miss Knox.... War Department ’tends to it for us.” “My people will be terribly worried until they hear I am safe, and then they’ll keep on being worried until I’m back in New York again.... I’m going to sit down. Come on.”