“I’ve got leave, fellows,” he appealed to the other noncoms. “I’ve got an engagement too.” “We know. To breakfast with the general,” sneered the stable sergeant. “Well, you’d better send your regrets.” At ten-fifteen the troop, having waited an hour, were growing uneasy, and Sergeant Gray was stationed at a window, watching three men in slickers tending a fire of mammoth proportions. At ten-thirty, going to a window in one of the two upper squad rooms, he made out a small car down the road, and a girl with a pink hat in it. There was no supply sergeant in sight. At ten forty-five a scout patrol in slickers having been sent out reported the supply sergeant not in the camp quartermaster’s office, as observed through a window, and the troop officers as having gone for the day. Black despair, then, in a hundred and ninety-five hearts, but in no one of them such agony as in Sergeant Gray’s. Clad in an army slicker he made a dozen abortive attempts to borrow a uniform from tall men in other companies, but inspection was on, and had commenced with the Headquarters Troop. Not a man dared to be found with less than “breeches, O. D. wool, prs., two.” And blouses the same. At eleven o’clock with the glare of frenzy in his eyes Sergeant Gray put on a slicker, put his pass in his pocket and left the barracks. Outside the door he hesitated. The sun was gleaming from a hot sky, and there was no wind. The absence of wind, he felt, was in his favour. During his hurried walk toward the little car he was feeling in his mind for some excuse for the slicker, but he found himself beside the car before he had found anything to satisfy him. “You are late,” said the girl severely. “Awfully busy morning,” he explained. “Inspection and—er—all that. There’s a lot to get ready,” he added mysteriously. He was aware of her careful scrutiny, and he flushed guiltily. As for the girl, she seemed satisfied with what she saw. He was a gentleman, clearly. But a slicker! “You’d better take that raincoat back,” she observed. “You won’t need it. It’s going to be clear and hot.” “I guess I’ll take it, anyhow.” “You’ll be checking it somewhere, and then forgetting to get it again.” He was frightfully uneasy. She was the sort of girl who seemed bent on getting her own way. So he muttered something about having a cold, and she countered with a flat statement that he would get more if he dressed too warmly. They had reached what amounted to an _impasse_ when a small boy flung a card into the car. “Don’t bother about it,” said the girl as he stooped to get it. “I have one in my pocket for you.” “Thanks, awfully,” said the sergeant, rather surprised. “What is it? A theatre ticket?” She did not reply at once. He saw that they were passing the end of the trolley line and going on. He had a little thrill of mingled delight and uneasiness. He had had no plans particularly, except to see her again. His only program had been destroyed in the bonfire.