Still half asleep, they roused at the familiar sounds. Grunting and protesting they sat up. From the berth over him a corporal swung down two long bare legs and sat on the edge, yawning. Then somebody looked at a watch. There would have been a small riot, but the men were too sleepy and too relieved. They tumbled back, and Sergeant Gray lay on his pillow and grinned vindictively. He did not go to sleep at once. He lay there and thought of his wager, and cursed himself for a fool. Then he dismissed that and thought of his twenty-three and a half hours’ leave. If only there were a girl—a nice girl. He did not want the sort of girl a fellow picked up in the streets. He wanted a real girl, the sort a fellow could write to later on. Little quickenings of romance stirred in his heart. A pretty girl, preferably small. He liked them little, with pointed chins. They had a way, the little girls with pointed chins, of looking up at a fellow—— He wakened at seven. The troop were still sleeping, but from the baggage car ahead there floated back an odor of frying bacon, and on the platform of a station outside—for the train had stopped—the general was taking an airing. Sergeant Gray blew his whistle. “R-r-roll out!” he yelled. “R-r-roll out, you blooming sons of guns!” And, to emphasize his authority, he lifted a strong and muscular pair of legs and raised the upper berth, in which the corporal still slept. Smothered sounds from above convincing him that his efforts had been successful he dropped the upper berth with a jerk. “R-r-roll out, up there!” he yelled; and whistle in hand he lay back to the succulent enjoyment of an orange. Across from him the stable sergeant had turned on his back for another nap. Through the curtains, opened against the heat, Gray could see that young gentleman’s broad chest rising and falling slowly. The temptation and destiny were too strong for him. He bounced an orange on it, only to see it rebound through the window and to hear a deafening roar. The stable sergeant sat up, a hand on his chest and fire in his eyes. He blinked into the distorted face of the general, outside the window. The general was holding a hand to his left ear. “Who threw that orange?” demanded the general. “Wh-what orange, sir?” “Don’t lie to me. It came out of this window.” “I was asleep, sir. Something struck me on the chest. I didn’t see it, sir!” Behind his curtains Sergeant Gray had been struggling into his trousers. He emerged now, slightly pale but determined. “I threw it, sir,” he explained. “I had no idea—it bounced, sir.” The general surveyed him grimly. “It’s a curious thing, sergeant,” he said, “that when there is any deviltry going on in the Headquarters Troop I find you at the bottom of it. Report to me in my car at eight o’clock.” Then he stalked away.