He was drafted aboard the Dixie, where, within a week of his joining, he was promoted to be one of the four quartermasters.  So much older than the majority of his comrades, quick, alert, obedient, and responsible, he was naturally amongst the first chosen for what are called leading seamen.  Never was a man more in his element than George Raymond.  He shook down into naval life like one born to it.  The sea was in his blood, and his translation from the auditor’s department to the deck of a fighting ship seemed to him like one of those happy dreams when one pinches himself to try and confirm the impossible.  Metaphorically speaking, he was always pinching himself and contrasting the monotonous past with the glorious and animated present.  The change told in his manner, in the tilt of his head, in his fearless eyes and straighter back.  It comes natural to heroes to protrude their chests and walk upon air; and it is pardonable, indeed, in war time, when each feels himself responsible for a fraction of his country’s honour.

“Georgie, you are positively becoming handsome,” said his mother.

Amongst Raymond’s comrades on the Dixie was a youngster of twenty-one, named Howard Quintan.  Something attracted him in the boy, and he went out of his way to make things smooth for him aboard.  The liking was no less cordially returned, and the two became fast friends.  One day, when they were both given liberty together, Howard insisted on taking him to his own home.

“The folks want to know you,” he said.  “They naturally think a heap of you because I do, and I’ve told them how good you’ve been and all that.”

“Oh, rubbish!” said Raymond, though he was inwardly pleased.  At the time they were walking up Fifth Avenue, both in uniform, with their caps on one side, sailor fashion, and their wide trousers flapping about their ankles.  People looked at them kindly as they passed, for the shadow of the war lay on everyone and all hearts went out to the men who were to uphold the flag.  Raymond was flattered and yet somewhat overcome by the attention his companion and he excited.

“Let’s get out of this, Quint,” he said.  “I can’t walk straight when people look at me like that.  Don’t you feel kind of givey-givey at the knees with all those pretty girls loving us in advance?”

“Oh, that’s what I like!” said Quintan.  “I never got a glance when I used to sport a silk hat.  Besides, here we are at the old stand!”

Raymond regarded him with blank surprise as they turned aside and up the steps of one of the houses.

“Land’s sake!” he exclaimed; “you don’t mean to say you live in a place like this?  Here?” he added, with an intonation that caused Howard to burst out laughing.

The young fellow pushed by the footman that admitted them and ran up the stairs three steps at a time.  Raymond followed more slowly, dazed by the splendour he saw about him, and feeling horribly embarrassed and deserted.  He halted on the stairs as he saw Quintan throw his arms about a tall, stately, magnificently dressed woman and kiss her boisterously; and he was in two minds whether or not to slink down again and disappear, when his companion called out to him to hurry up.