"Did you have a pleasant visit from Mr. Broussard?" asked Colonel
Fortescue.

"Very pleasant, daddy dear. He knows so much about birds."

"I think," replied the Colonel, darkly, "Mr. Broussard's knowledge
comes chiefly from the study of fighting chickens."

"I hear he has cockfights on Sunday, in the cellar of his quarters,"
said Mrs. Fortescue, willing to give Broussard a slashing cut under the
fifth rib.

"Cocking mains, my dear," corrected the Colonel, and then kept on,
earnestly, to Anita.

"Yon can scarcely imagine the horrors of a cockpit. The poor
gamecocks, with cruel spurs upon their feet, tearing each other to
pieces, and blood and feathers all over the place."

"You seem wonderfully familiar with cockpits," remarked Mrs. Fortescue.
"It seems to me, when we went to our first post after we were married,
that you were sometimes missing on Sunday morning, and used to tell me
afterward about the grand time you had, and the superior fighting
qualities of the Savoys over the Bantams."

The Colonel scowled.

"I don't recall the circumstances, Elizabeth," he said.