the bags, laid out everybody's linen, saw that the sheets were dry,
received all callers so that the boys might sleep in the afternoon, did
all the disagreeable and uncomfortable things himself, and let everybody
else have all the fun. He did all this unconsciously, graciously, and
simply because he could not help it. When the outing ended, you parted
from him with all the regret that you would from some chum of your college
days. As for him, he never wanted it to end. There was no office, nor law
case, nor sick patient, nor ugly partner, nor complication of any kind,
commercial, social, or professional, which could affect the major. For him
life was one prolonged drift: so long as the last man remained he could
stay. When he left, if there was enough in the larder to last over, the
major always made another day of it.


II

The major was standing on the steamboat wharf in Baltimore, nervously
consulting his watch, when Jack and I stepped from a cab next day.

"Well, by gravy! is this all? Where are the other gentlemen?"

"They'll be down in the morning, major," said Jack. "Where shall we send
this baggage?"

"Here, just give it to me! Po'ter, _po'ter_!" in a stentorian voice. "Take
these bags and guns, and put 'em on the upper deck alongside of my
luggage. Now, gentlemen, just a sip of somethin' befo' they haul the
gang-plank,--we've six minutes yet."

The bar was across the street. On the way over, the major confided to Jack