The Washington herald., 1914-11-29

and Aft" came back to him. Often he
had quoted it, when some one in the
service had suffered through the fault
of others. II was the death-cry of the
boy officer, Devlin. The knives of the
Ghazi had cut him down, but it was
his own peoples abandoning him in
terror that had killed him. And so,
with a sob, he flung the line at the
retreating backs of his comrades
You've killed me, you cowardsl"
Swanson, nursing his anger, repeated
this savagely. He wished he could
bring it home to those men of the
court-martiaL He wished he could
make them know that his death lay at
their door. He determined that they
should know. On one of his visiting
cards he penciled:
ITO the Officers OF my Court Mar
tial: You've killed me, you cowardsP "
He placed the card in the pocket of
his waistcoat. They would find it just
above the place where the bullet would
burn the cloth.
The band was playing "Auf Wied-
ersehen," and the waltz carried with
it the sadness that had made people
cali the man who wrote it the waltz
king. Swanson listened gratefully. He
was glad that before he went out, his
last mood had been of regret and
gentleness. The sting of his anger had
departed, the music soothed and sober
ed him. 1t had been very good world.
Until he had broken the spine of things
it had treated him well, far better, he
admitted, than he deserved. There were
many in it who had been kind, to whom
he was grateful He wished there was
some way by which he could let them
know that As though in answer to
his wish, from across the parade-ground
the wireless again began to crash and
crackle; but now Swanson was at
greater distance from it, and the sigh
ing rhythm of the waltz was not in
terrupted.
Swanson considered to whom he
might send farewell message, but as
in his mind he passed from one friend
to another, he saw that to each such
greeting could bring only distress. He
decided it was the music that had led
him astray. This was no moment for
false sentiment. He let his hand close
upon the pistol
The audience now was dispensing.
The nursemaids had collected their
charges, the musicians were taking
apart their music racks, and from the
steps of the vine-covered veranda Ad-
miral Preble was bidding the friends
of his wife adieu. At his side his aide,
young, alert, confident, with ill-con-
cealed impatience awaited their de-
parture. Swanson found that he re-
sented the aide. He resented the man.
ner in which he speeded the parting
guests. Even if there were matters of
Importance he was anxious to communi-
cate to his chief, he need not make II
plain to the women folk that they were
in the way.
When. a month before, he had been
adjutant, in a like situation he would
have shown more self-command. He
dlsaPproved of the aide entirely u.
resented the fact that he was as voung
as himself, that he was in uniform
that ne was an aide. Swanson certain
ly hoped that when he was in uniform
he had not looked so much the CON-
querng hero so self-satisfed, so super
ciious. With a smile he wondered
why, at such moment, a man he had
never seen before, and never would
see again, should so disturb him
In his heart he knew. The aide was
going forward Just where he was Ieav-
ing off. The ribbons on the tunic of
the aide, the straps on his shoulders,
told Swanson that they had served in
the same campaigns, that they were of
the same relative rank, and that when
he himself, had he remained in the
service, would have been a brigadier
general the aide would command
The possible future of the
'oung sailor filed Swanson with honor
fole envy and bitter regret. With all
lis soul he envied him the right to look
lis fellow-man in the eye, his right to
lie for his country, to give his life,
should it be required of him, for oo,-
10000 people, for flag. Swanson saw
he two officers dimly, with eyes of /
litter self-pity. He was dying, but he
vas not dying gloriously for a flag.
de had lost the right to die for it, and
lie was dying because he had lost that
light.
The sun had sunk and the evening
lad grown chill At the wharf where