"Guess again," he growled.

"The barber from the village?"

"No."

"Maybe"--here the sentry laughed--"maybe you're the major himself?"

"That's right. I am the major," was the stern reply.

The sentry scrambled to his feet.

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "Hold the pie, will you, while I present
arms!"


The battle was going against him. The commander-in-chief, himself ruler
of the South American republic, sent an aide to the rear, ordering
General Blanco to bring up his regiment at once. Ten minutes passed; but
it didn't come. Twenty, thirty, and an hour--still no regiment. The aide
came tearing back hatless, breathless.

"My regiment! My regiment! Where is it? Where is it?" shrieked the
commander.

"General," answered the excited aide, "Blanco started it all right, but
there are a couple of drunken Americans down the road and they won't let
it go by."