“I don’t recall the circumstances, Elizabeth,” he said.

“But I do, John,” tartly responded Mrs. Fortescue.

Anita knew that when it was Jack and Betty the skies were serene, and when it became John and Elizabeth there were clouds upon the horizon.

At this point Kettle, who was serving dinner, felt that his duty as Broussard’s ally was to speak.

“Miss Betty,” said he with solemn emphasis, “Mr. Broussard doan’ keep them chickens in his cellar fur to fight; he keeps ’em to lay aigs fur his breakfus’.”

“That’s queer,” said the Colonel, “all of Mr. Broussard’s chickens are cock chickens.”

This would have abashed a less ardent partisan, but it only stimulated Kettle.

“Come to think of it, Miss Betty,” Kettle continued stoutly, “them chickens is cock chickens, but Mr. Broussard, he keep ’em for fryin’ chickens and bri’lers; he eats a cock chicken ev’ry mornin’ fur his breakfus’, day in and day out.”

“Oh, Kettle!” said Anita, in a tone of soft reproach.  She disliked the notion of a cockpit, but she was a lover of abstract truth, which Kettle was not.

“Well, Miss Anita,” Kettle began argumentatively, “the truth is, Mr. Broussard, he jes’ keep them chickens to’ ’commodate the chaplain.  The chaplain, he’s a gre’t cockfighter, an’ he say, ’Mr. Broussard, the Kun’l is mighty strict, an’ kinder queer in his head, an’ he ain’t no dead game sport like me an’ you, so if you will oblige me, Mr. Broussard, jes’ keep my fightin’ chickens in your cellar, an’ if the Kun’l say anything to you, tell him them chickens is yourn.  You wouldn’t mind a little thing like that, would you, Mr. Broussard?’ That’s what I hee’rd the chaplain say.”

“Kettle!” shouted the Colonel, and Mrs. Fortescue remarked candidly: 

“You are a big story-teller, Kettle, there isn’t a word of truth in all you have been telling.”

“That’s so, Miss Betty,” announced Kettle, brazenly.  “Truth is, Mr. Broussard ain’t got no chickens at all in his cellar, he keeps ducks, Miss Betty, ’cause the water rises in the cellar all the time.”

Kettle’s active help did not end with wholesale lying as a means of helping Broussard.  Within a week every time the After-Clap caught sight of Broussard he would shout for “Bruvver.”  This, Kettle carefully explained, was the baby’s way of saying Broussard, but it brought a good many quarters from Broussard’s pocket into Kettle’s palm.

CHAPTER II

A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK

The December days sped on, and Christmas was nearing.  As the great, splendid fort was a shut-in place, the people in it made great preparations for Christmas, if only to forget that they were shut in.  The Christmas Eve exhibition drill and music ride was to be the principal event of the season, and, wonder of wonders, Anita was to ride with Broussard at the music ride.  This was not accomplished without pleadings and even tears from Anita.  Mrs. Fortescue took no part in this affair between the Colonel and the adored of his heart; Anita and the Colonel had always settled their problems between themselves solely.  Sergeant McGillicuddy had something to do with wringing from the Colonel his consent that Anita should ride with Broussard.