Although the sun was shining brightly
now, the earlier rain and hint of winter in the air had clothed all
ranks in dark gray great-coats and brown leggings. Hence, to the
untrained glance, they were singularly alike. Officers, sergeants,
privates and bandsmen might have been cast in molds, after the style of
toy soldiers. There were exceptions, of course, just as the fat man
achieved distinction among the unemployed. The crimson sashes of the
officers, the drum-major, with his twirling staff, the white apron of
the big drummer, drew the eye. A slim subaltern, carrying the
regimental color, held pride of place in the picture. The rich hues of
the silk lent a barbaric splendor to his sober trappings. And he took
himself seriously. A good-looking lad, with smooth contours not yet
hardened to the military type, his face had in it a set gravity which
proclaimed that he would bear that flag whithersoever his country's
need demanded. And it was good to see him so intent on the mere charge
of it in transit between Chelsea Barracks and the Guard-room at St.
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