Stanford, a Lieutenant under Jameson, came stumbling along toward them. He was a lad of the class of '98 at West Point. It could be seen that he was flaming with fever. He rolled a calm eye at them. "Have you any water, sir?" he said to his Captain. Jameson got upon his feet and helped Stanford to lay his shaking length under the shelter. "No, boy," he answered gloomily. "Not a drop. You got any, Rip?" "No," answered Ripley, looking with anxiety upon the young officer. "Not a drop." "You, Cadogan?" Here Caspar hesitated oddly for a second, and then in a tone of deep regret made answer, "No, Captain; not a mouthful." Jameson moved off weakly. "You lay quietly, Stanford, and I'll see what I can rustle." Presently Caspar felt that Ripley was steadily regarding him. He returned the look with one of half-guilty questioning. "God forgive you, Cadogan," said Ripley, "but you are a damned beast. Your canteen is full of water." Even then the apathy in their veins prevented the scene from becoming as sharp as the words sounded. Caspar sputtered like a child, and at length merely said: "No, it isn't." Stanford lifted his head to shoot a keen, proud glance at Caspar, and then turned away his face. "You lie," said Ripley. "I can tell the sound of a full canteen as far as I can hear it." "Well, if it is, I--I must have forgotten it." "You lie; no man in this Army just now forgets whether his canteen is full or empty. Hand it over." Fever is the physical counterpart of shame, and when a man has the one he accepts the other with an ease which would revolt his healthy self. However, Caspar made a desperate struggle to preserve the forms. He arose and taking the string from his shoulder, passed the canteen to Ripley. But after all there was a whine in his voice, and the assumption of dignity was really a farce. "I think I had better go, Captain. You can have the water if you want it, I'm sure. But--but I fail to see--I fail to see what reason you have for insulting me." "Do you?" said Ripley stolidly. "That's all right." Caspar stood for a terrible moment. He simply did not have the strength to turn his back on this--this affair. It seemed to him that he must stand forever and face it. But when he found the audacity to look again at Ripley he saw the latter was not at all concerned with the situation. Ripley, too, had the fever. The fever changes all laws of proportion. Caspar went away. "Here, youngster; here is your drink." Stanford made a weak gesture. "I wouldn't touch a drop from his blamed canteen if it was the last water in the world," he murmured in his high, boyish voice. "Don't you be a young jackass," quoth Ripley tenderly. The boy stole a glance at the canteen. He felt the propriety of arising and hurling it after Caspar, but--he, too, had the fever. "Don't you be a young jackass," said Ripley again. VI