"What do you make of him?" asked the colonel, an hour later, as the senior medical officer came lumbering up the steps.
"He seems, physically, all right now," was the answer. "There is no functional disorder. He's sound as a dollar as far as our tests can determine, but Dwight has been under a strain, as we know, and then--there's that Luzon sunstroke. Any time, almost, that may lead to such symptoms as you noted at parade."
"Lucky Dwight isn't a drinking man," said Stone grimly. "There won't be any more _Banner of Light_ descriptions of our depravity for a time, anyhow; but--fancy the story _that_ would make in expert hands--and a Prohibition sheet. God grant no worse scandal come to us," he added piously, and in guarded tone, as the surgeon took his leave.
It was barely nine o'clock when, some garrison callers having departed, Mrs. Stone picked up a light wrap and said she believed she would stroll down the line and see Mrs. Ray. Everybody by this time had heard of the fracas at the office of the post Exchange at noonday, and the few who had caught sight of the left side of Foster's face bore testimony to the fact that Sandy Ray had lost little, if any, of one science he picked up at the Point. Mrs. Ray would surely be feeling anxious and distressed, said Mrs. Stone, even though everyone assured her, in manner if not in words, that public sympathy was all with Sandy.
"I believe I'll go, too," said Stone. "I'm feeling woozy to-night." So, arm in arm, this Darby and Joan of the frontier betook themselves down the row, past many an open casement and doorway, softly lighted, with whispering couples in the shadows and laughing, chatting groups upon the steps, with the tinkle of mandolin and guitar to mingle with the soft murmur of voices, despite many a hospitable bid to "Come and join us," the couple kept sturdily on and found, just as they expected, that other sympathetic souls had been before them, that Mrs. Ray was still holding quite a reception, Priscilla and Sandy being conspicuous by their absence, Priscilla having retired with a throbbing headache, Sandy, still tingling and nervous, having sent for his horse but a short time before and gone for a ride. They stayed quite a while, did the Stones, and Mrs. Ray seemed gladdened and comforted by their coming. It meant so much just then. Indeed, the bugles were sounding the ten o'clock call when finally they took their leave, and Sandy had not returned. True, he had then been gone little over an hour, and he could ride but slowly, though he declared he had neither strained a muscle nor started anew the trouble in the old wound. Perhaps it was too soon to be sure, but at all events a ride, a gentle amble on a nimble, easy horse over the elastic turf in the soft, summer moonlight would soothe and quiet him more than anything else, so, wisely, Marion had interposed no objection.