“Mighty glad you like them, old man,” replied Tom, beaming with pleasure. “Marjorie came over here when I first moved in and helped me settle the house. She deserves all the praise.” “I do not,” contradicted Marjorie, breaking off her tête-à-tête with Barnard, and Duncan sat back well satisfied. “Aunt Yvonett is responsible for your home.” “I never knew before that bachelors had so much furniture,” chimed in Pauline. “They don’t,” replied Tom. “Most of this stuff,” waving his hand vaguely toward the heavy pieces of furniture, “belongs to the Government.” “How long is your detail here?” asked Barnard. “There is no specified limit, but we are expecting to be ordered to another station very shortly.” “I should think you’d hate to give up all this furniture when you move away,” commented Janet, looking admiringly about the cozy room. “I’ll find some exactly like it in the officers’ quarters at my next post,” carelessly. “Uncle Sam partly furnishes all the houses on Government Reservations, you know. What I shall miss will be Washington.” “Perhaps the War Department will extend your detail here,” exclaimed Marjorie hopefully. “No such luck,” groaned Tom. “Now, in the good old days ... I suppose you have all heard of the marine officer who was stationed for so many years at the marine barracks in Washington, that when he died he bequeathed his Government quarters in the Yard to his daughters in his will, thinking it belonged to him.” “If you don’t want to leave Washington, Tom, why don’t you chuck the service?” asked Joe. “You are a bloated plutocrat now.” “What does he mean, Tom?” demanded Marjorie quickly. “Have you inherited money?” “No. Shut up, Joe.” “Well, with your luck anything might happen,” protested Joe. “If you don’t resign they may make you a major-general.” “Bosh!” Tom looked as provoked as he felt. “Let me explain Joe’s nonsense. When in Brussels two years ago, I attended the Vieux Marché where the townspeople and peasants bring old junk on Sundays to be sold for what it will bring, and I picked up an old coin for five centimes. The other day I heard Admiral Lawrence discussing numismatology in the club, and it occurred to me to show my coin to an antique dealer. Joe went with me yesterday, and I’m blessed if the dealer didn’t tell me the coin was worth between twelve and fifteen hundred dollars.” “Oh, how romantic!” ejaculated Pauline, and Janet looked her interest. “Let’s see the coin, Tom,” suggested Joe, “or have you sold it?” “No, the dealer only gave me the address of a New York coin collector whom he thought would buy it. If you really care to see the coin,” looking anxiously at Janet, who nodded her head vigorously. “Just a moment, I’ll run upstairs and get it.” Pauline promptly opened a lively conversation with Barnard across the table, and Duncan was just thinking of changing his seat when Tom rejoined them carrying a small pasteboard box.