On the night of Caspar's return he did not go to dinner, but had a tray sent to his library, where he remained writing. At last he heard the spin of the dog-cart's wheels on the gravel of the drive, and a moment later there penetrated to him the sound of joyful feminine cries. He lit another cigar; he knew that it was now his part to bide with dignity the moment when his son should shake off that other welcome and come to him. He could still hear them; in their exuberance they seemed to be capering like schoolchildren. He was impatient, but this impatience took the form of a polar stolidity. Presently there were quick steps and a jubilant knock at his door. "Come in," he said. In came Caspar, thin, yellow, and in soiled khaki. "They almost tore me to pieces," he cried, laughing. "They danced around like wild things." Then as they shook hands he dutifully said "How are you, sir?" "How are you, my boy?" answered the Senator casually but kindly. "Better than I might expect, sir," cried Caspar cheerfully. "We had a pretty hard time, you know." "You look as if they'd given you a hard run," observed the father in a tone of slight interest. Caspar was eager to tell. "Yes, sir," he said rapidly. "We did, indeed. Why, it was awful. We--any of us--were lucky to get out of it alive. It wasn't so much the Spaniards, you know. The Army took care of them all right. It was the fever and the--you know, we couldn't get anything to eat. And the mismanagement. Why, it was frightful." "Yes, I've heard," said the Senator. A certain wistful look came into his eyes, but he did not allow it to become prominent. Indeed, he suppressed it. "And you, Caspar? I suppose you did your duty?" Caspar answered with becoming modesty. "Well, I didn't do more than anybody else, I don't suppose, but--well, I got along all right, I guess." "And this great charge up San Juan Hill?" asked, the father slowly. "Were you in that?" "Well--yes; I was in it," replied the son. The Senator brightened a trifle. "You were, eh? In the front of it? or just sort of going along?" "Well--I don't know. I couldn't tell exactly. Sometimes I was in front of a lot of them, and sometimes I was--just sort of going along." This time the Senator emphatically brightened. "That's all right, then. And of course--of course you performed your commissary duties correctly?" The question seemed to make Caspar uncommunicative and sulky. "I did when there was anything to do," he answered. "But the whole thing was on the most unbusiness-like basis you can imagine. And they wouldn't tell you anything. Nobody would take time to instruct you in your duties, and of course if you didn't know a thing your superior officer would swoop down on you and ask you why in the deuce such and such a thing wasn't done in such and such a way. Of course I did the best I could."