“There’s where you are mistaken, Mr. Sloat” (and Jerrold purposely and exasperatingly refused to recognize the customary brevet):  “I had seen it,—­frequently.”

Two officers were standing by, and one of them turned sharply and faced Jerrold as he spoke.  It was his former company commander.  Jerrold noted the symptom, and flushed, but set his teeth doggedly.

“Why, Mr. Jerrold!  Mrs. Maynard said she never showed that to any one,” said Sloat, in much surprise.  “You heard her, did you not, Captain Chester?”

“I did, certainly,” was the reply.

“All the same, I repeat what I’ve said,” was Jerrold’s sullen answer.  “I have seen it frequently, and, what’s more—­” He suddenly stopped.

“Well, what’s more?” said Sloat, suggestively.

“Never mind.  I don’t care to talk of the matter,” replied Jerrold, and started to walk away.

But Sloat was angry, nettled, jealous.  He had meant to show his intense loyalty and admiration for everything that was his colonel’s, and had been snubbed and called a fool by an officer many years, though not so many “files,” his junior.  He never had liked him, and now there was an air of conscious superiority about Jerrold that fairly exasperated him.  He angrily followed and called to him to stop, but Jerrold walked on.  Captain Chester stood still and watched them.  The little man had almost to run before he overtook the tall one.  They were out of earshot when he finally did so.  There were a few words on both sides.  Then Jerrold shifted his light cane into his left hand, and Chester started forward, half expecting a fracas.  To his astonishment, the two officers shook hands and parted.

“Well,” said he, as Sloat came back with an angry yet bewildered face, “I’m glad you shook hands.  I almost feared a row, and was just going to stop it.  So he apologized, did he?”

“No, nothing like it.”

“Then what did you mean by shaking hands?”

“That’s nothing—­never you mind,” said Sloat, confusedly.  “I haven’t forgiven him, by a good deal.  The man’s conceit is enough to disgust anything—­but a woman, I suppose,” he finished, ruefully.

“Well, it’s none of my business, Sloat, but pardon my saying I don’t see what there was to bring about the apparent reconciliation.  That hand-shake meant something.”

“Oh, well—­damn it! we had some words, and he—­or I—­Well, there’s a bet, and we shook hands on it.”

“Seems to me that’s pretty serious business, Sloat,—­a bet following such a talk as you two have had.  I hope—­”

“Well, captain,” interrupted Sloat, “I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been mad as blazes; but I made it, and must stick to it,—­that’s all.”

“You wouldn’t mind telling me what it was, I suppose?”

“I can’t; and that ends it.”