Their lungs were full of fresh air, and youth with all its joyous
irresponsibility had come back. Harry sprang out of bed.
"Up! up! old boy!" Harry cried to Dalton. "Don't you hear the bugles
calling? not to battle but to pleasure! There is no enemy in our front!
We don't have to cross a river with an overwhelming army pressing down
upon us! We don't have to ride before the dawn on a scout which may
lead us into a thicket full of hostile riflemen. We're in a city, boy,
and our business now is beauty and pleasure!"
"Harry," said Dalton, "you ought to go far."
"Why, George? What induces you to assume the role of a prophet
concerning me?"
"Because you're so full of life. You're so keen about everything.
You must have a heart and lungs of extra steam power."
"But I notice you don't say anything about brain power. Maybe you think
it's the quiet, rather silent fellows like yourself, George, who have an
excess of that."
"None of your irony. Am I not looking forward to this ball as much as
you are? I was a boy when I entered the war, Harry, but two years of
fighting day and night age one terribly. I feel as if I could patronize
any woman under twenty-five, and treat her as quite a simple young thing.
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