By this time the three brothers were helpless with laughter.  The combat ceased, and they sat upon the floor to survey the damage.

“You can’t handle the old man yet, boys,” said the colonel.  His left eye was closed, and his new uniform looked like the ribbons hung on a May-pole.

Hamilton was bleeding at the nose.  Hannibal’s lip was split.  The three looked at each other and shook with laughter.

“I’m inclined to think we’ve had a healthy bringing-up,” said Hamilton between gasps.

“Better move, colonel,” said Hannibal; “you’re sitting in a pool of ink.”

“So I am,” said the colonel, as the cold struck through his new trousers.

The laughter broke out afresh.

Beau Larch, in the uniform of a private, appeared at the door.

“Hallo, Beau!”

“Come in.”

“Take a hand?”

“Thank you, no,” said Beau.  “I just dropped in to tell you fellows that we’ve just had a hell of a licking at Bull Run.”

“Us!” said the colonel, rising.

“Us!” said Hamilton.  “Licked!”

“Us!” said Hannibal.

“And I’ve got other news, too,” said Beau, bashfully.  “If I stop drinking till my year’s up, and don’t ever drink any more, Claire says she’ll marry me.”

Hannibal was the first to shake his hand.

“Boys,” said Beau, “I hope if any of you ever sees me touch a drop you’ll strike me dead.”

He went out.

“I’m going to find out about this,” said John; “what did he say the name of the licking was?”

“Bull Run.”

“Bull Run.  And I’ll come back and tell you.”

He was starting to descend the steep stairs to the street, when he caught the sound of snickers and creeping footsteps behind him.  He turned like a panther, but was not in time.  The heavily driven toes of the right boots of the younger St. Johns lifted him clear of the stairs, and clean to the bottom of them.  There he sat, his uniform a thing of the past, his left eye blackening and closed, and roars of laughter shaking him.

But Hamilton and Hannibal put the office more or less to rights, and sat down gloomily at their respective desks.  Up till now they had faced being left behind, but this licking was too much.  Each brooded over it, while pretending to be up to the ears in work.  Hamilton wrote a letter, sealed it, addressed it, and presently rose.

“Bul,” he said, and to Hannibal the whole manoeuver smacked suspicious, “I’m going to run up and see the old man for a few minutes.”

“All right,” said Hannibal.

Hamilton reached the door and turned.

“By the way,” he said, “I left a letter on my desk; wish you’d put a stamp on it and mail it.”

He went out.

Hannibal felt very lonely and fidgety.

“I think I’ll just mail that letter and get it off my mind,” he said.

He put on his hat, licked a stamp, and crossed to his brother’s desk.  The letter was there, right enough, but it did not require a stamp, for on it was written but one word, and that word was Hannibal.