So, after all, since our children will take on a new love, we must return to our honeymoon days and not let anything matter so long as we are together.

Then, the After-Clap--I always feel so ridiculously young whenever I look at that baby." At this the Colonel's heart was soothed and he did not hate Broussard quite so much.
There was, however, no let-up in Broussard's ardent wooing of the Colonel, who took it a trifle more graciously.

One afternoon, late in December, Broussard, passing the headquarters building, saw Colonel Fortescue's orderly holding the bridle reins of Gamechick, who was saddled.

Broussard was in his riding clothes and was himself waiting for the horse lent him for the afternoon by a brother officer.

He stopped and began to pat Gamechick's beautiful neck and the horse, who was, like all intelligent horses, a sentimentalist, rubbed his nose against Broussard's head, and said, as plainly as a horse can say: "Dear master, I love you still." Colonel Fortescue, coming out of the gate, saw Broussard, and his heart softened as he recalled the last time he had seen Broussard riding Gamechick.