CHAPTER XI.
THE TOSS OF A NAPKIN As music and splendor Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute-- No songs but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell.
-- Shelley.
Captain Richard Claiborne gave a supper at the Army and Navy Club for ten men in honor of the newly-arrived military attache of the Spanish legation.

He had drawn his guests largely from his foreign acquaintances in Washington because the Spaniard spoke little English; and Dick knew Washington well enough to understand that while a girl and a man who speak different languages may sit comfortably together at table, men in like predicament grow morose and are likely to quarrel with their eyes before the cigars are passed.

It was Friday, and the whole party had witnessed the drill at Fort Myer that afternoon, with nine girls to listen to their explanation of the manoeuvers and the earliest spring bride for chaperon.

Shirley had been of the party, and somewhat the heroine of it, too, for it was Dick who sat on his horse out in the tanbark with the little whistle to his lips and manipulated the troop.
"Here's a confusion of tongues; I may need you to interpret," laughed Dick, indicating a chair at his left; and when Armitage sat down he faced Chauvenet across the round table.
With the first filling of glasses it was found that every one could speak French, and the talk went forward spiritedly.

The discussion of military matters naturally occupied first place, and all were anxious to steer clear of anything that might be offensive to the Spaniard, who had lost a brother at San Juan.