The Colonel of the Red Huzzars

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The Colonel of the Red Huzzars

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John Reed Scott, Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood
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Title: The Colonel of the Red Huzzars
Author: John Reed Scott

Release Date: November 22, 2005 [eBook #17131]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS
by
JOHN REED SCOTT
With Illustrations by Clarence F. Underwood

[Frontispiece: "You are a soldier--an American officer?" she said,
suddenly.]

Grosset & Dunlap Publishers, New York Copyright 1905 by John Reed
Scott Copyright 1906 by J. B. Lippincott Co. Published June, 1906

TO MY WIFE

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
A PICTURE AND A WAGER II. CONCERNING ANCESTORS III.
IN DORNLITZ AGAIN IV. THE SALUTE OF A COUSIN V. THE
SALUTE OR A FRIEND VI. THE SIXTH DANCE VII. AN EARLY
MORNING RIDE VIII. THE LAWS OF THE DALBERGS IX. THE

DECISION X. THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS XI. THE
FATALITY OF MOONLIGHT XII. LEARNING MY TRADE XIII.
IN THE ROYAL BOX XIV. THE WOMAN IN BLACK XV. HER
WORD AND HER CERTIFICATE XVI. THE PRINCESS ROYAL
SITS AS JUDGE XVII. PITCH AND TOSS XVIII. ANOTHER ACT
IN THE PLAY XIX. MY COUSIN, THE DUKE XX. A TRICK OF
FENCE XXI. THE BAL MASQUE XXII. BLACK KNAVE AND
WHITE XXIII. AT THE INN OF THE TWISTED PINES XXIV. THE
END OF THE PLAY

ILLUSTRATIONS
"You are a soldier--an American officer?" she said, suddenly. . . . . .
Frontispiece Then, as he unbent, his eyes rested on me for the first
time.
Our swords fell to talking in the garden of the masked ball.

THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS
I
A PICTURE AND A WAGER
It was raining heavily and I fastened my overcoat to the neck as I came
down the steps of the Government Building. Pushing through the
crowds and clanging electric cars, at the Smithfield Street corner, I
turned toward Penn Avenue and the Club, whose home is in a big,
old-fashioned, grey-stone building--sole remnant of aristocracy in that
section where, once, naught else had been.
For three years I had been the engineer officer in charge of the
Pittsburgh Harbor, and "the navigable rivers thereunto belonging"--as
my friend, the District Judge, across the hall, would say--and my relief
was due next week. Nor was I sorry. I was tired of dams and bridges

and jobs, of levels and blue prints and mathematics. I wanted my sword
and pistols--a horse between my legs--the smell of gunpowder in the air.
I craved action--something more stirring than dirty banks and filthy
water and coal-barges bound for Southern markets.
Five years ago my detail would have been the envy of half the Corps.
But times were changed. The Spanish War had done more than give
straps to a lot of civilians with pulls; it had eradicated the dry-rot from
the Army. The officer with the soft berth was no longer deemed lucky;
promotion passed him by and seized upon his fellow in the field. I had
missed the war in China and the fighting in the Philippines and, as a
consequence, had seen juniors lifted over me. Yet, possibly, I had small
cause to grumble; for my own gold leaves had dropped upon me in
Cuba, to the disadvantage of many who were my elders, and, doubtless,
my betters as well. I had applied for active service, but evidently it had
not met with approval, for my original orders to report to the Chief of
Engineers were still unchanged.
The half dozen "regulars," lounging on the big leather chairs before the
fireplace in the Club reception-room, waiting for the dinner hour, gave
me the usual familiar yet half indifferent greeting, as I took my place
among them and lit a cigar.
"Mighty sorry we're to lose you, Major," said Marmont. "Dinner won't
seem quite right with your chair vacant."
"I'll come back occasionally to fill it," I answered. "Meanwhile there
are cards awaiting all of you at the Metropolitan or the Army and
Navy."
"Then you don't look for an early assignment to the White Elephant
across the Pacific?" inquired Courtney.
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Hastings, "did you apply for the Philippines?"