“You let my ’Nita ’lone, you bad man!”

The After-Clap’s shrieks brought the chaplain and Kettle and a couple of soldiers quickly out of the chapel.  Meanwhile, with what Broussard thought superhuman and intelligent malice, the After-Clap dragged the iron gate open that led to the plaza, and rushed straight into the arms of Colonel Fortescue, returning from his first walk, aided by a stick in one hand and Mrs. Fortescue’s arm on the other side.

“Daddy!  Daddy!  You come here and beat Mr. Broussard.  He kissed ’Nita!  He kissed ’Nita!” shrieked the After-Clap.

Broussard and Anita, standing in the circle of eyes, were much embarrassed; Kettle, grabbing the After-Clap, shook him well, saying: 

“Heish yo’ mouth! you didn’t see no sich a thing!”

This only increased the After-Clap’s indignation, and he bawled louder than ever: 

“I see Mr. Broussard kiss ’Nita!  I see him kiss my ’Nita.”

“Yes, I kissed Anita,” responded Broussard, recovering his native impudence, “but she is my Anita and not your Anita any longer.”

This produced another attack on Broussard’s shins by the After-Clap.

“I think,” said Mrs. Fortescue demurely, “Kettle had better take the After-Clap home.”

“So do I,” said Broussard, “he has been very much in my way ever since he began yelling.”

The Colonel and the chaplain began to make conversation, as Kettle carried the After-Clap off, still proclaiming he had seen Broussard kiss Anita.  The two soldiers grinned silently at each other.  The whole party started off to the C. O.’s house, Mrs. Fortescue walking between the Colonel and the chaplain, while Broussard and Anita brought up the rear.

When they reached the house, Colonel Fortescue went straight to his office.  Mrs. Fortescue and the chaplain made little jokes on the lovers, but the Colonel had looked as solemn as the grave.  The hour had come when his little Anita was no longer his.

“Come,” said Broussard to Anita, “let us face the battery now.”

Hand in hand they entered Colonel Fortescue’s office.  The Colonel behaved better than anybody expected.  When he had given his formal consent, Anita slipped behind his chair and said to him softly: 

“Daddy, I made up my mind when I was a little girl, a long time ago, that I would never marry any man that was not as good as you, my darling daddy!”

Fond fathers are generally won by these tender pleas.  Broussard turned his head away as the Colonel drew his daughter to him; the passion of father-love was too sacred even for the eyes of a lover.  On the way out they met Sergeant McGillicuddy, who tried to look unconscious.

“Congratulate me!” cried Broussard.

“I do, sir,” replied the Sergeant, solemnly, “and if I may make bold to say it, the Colonel will make a father-in-law-and-a-half, sir.”

This was enigmatic, but Broussard was too happy then to study enigmas.