Broussard felt himself in Paradise when he was walking with Anita along the moonlit plaza toward the riding hall.  Outside, troopers were leading the restless horses up and down.  Pretty Maid did not belie her name, and was the best behaved, as she was the handsomest, of all the mounts of the young ladies.  Broussard’s Gamechick, a perfectly trained cavalry charger, with an eye and ear of beautiful intelligence, had not his superior among the horses.  Sergeant McGillicuddy, who was the best man with horses at Fort Blizzard, was sauntering about, looking at the horses approvingly and saying to all who cared to hear: 

“As good a lot of nags as ever I see, and every blarsted one of ’em has got four legs.  It’s mighty seldom nowadays, you see a four-legged horse; most of ’em has only three legs and some of ’em ain’t got as much as two and a half.”

The riders, all wearing the same uniform as Broussard and Anita, appeared by twos and fours; bright-eyed young officers and merry girls.  Their part was not to come for an hour, but they declared the night was too lovely to go into the waiting-room, and they strolled about and talked horses and dancing and balls and all the happy things that fall out “when youth and pleasure meet.”

In the midst of the chatter of the riders and stamping and champing of the blanketed horses, as they were led up and down, Kettle suddenly appeared carrying in his arms a white bundle, which turned out to be the After-Clap.  He should have been asleep in his crib for hours, but instead he was wide awake, laughing and crowing and evidently meant, with Kettle’s assistance, to make a night of it.

“What do you mean, Kettle, by bringing the baby out this time of night?” asked the surprised Anita.

“I got him all wropped up warm,” answered Kettle, apologetically, pointing to the After-Clap’s white fur coat and cap.  “But that chile knowed there wuz a hoss show on—­it’s mighty little he doan’ know, and after the Kun’l and Miss Betty lef’, he begin’ to cry for ’Horsey!  Horsey!’ an I jes’ had to take him up an’ dress him an’ bring him here.  An’ that’s Gord’s truth, Miss Anita,” a phrase Kettle habitually used when making doubtful statements.

The baby was so obviously happy in this breach of all nursery discipline that Anita had not the heart to send him home.  Anita was a soft-hearted creature.  Sergeant McGillicuddy, however, explained disgustedly to the waiting troopers and horses how the After-Clap was permitted to begin his career of dissipation.

“I’ll bet you a million of monkeys,” the Sergeant proclaimed, “as Missis McGillicuddy wasn’t on hand when that there baby begun to yell ‘Horsey!  Horsey!’ if he ever did it at all.  With eight children av her own and Anna Mariar’s beau, Missis McGillicuddy must sometimes stop at home.  Lord help the naygur if Missis McGillicuddy should favor this evint with her prisince!”

The sympathies of the soldiers were entirely with the After-Clap, who loved soldiers, knowing them to be his true friends, and was never happier than with his big, kind, blue-coated playmates, the troopers, with their rattling sabres and clanking spurs.