Keep him out of mischief this morning."
"I will, sir," said the sergeant, and saluting turned away while Webb
went back to set a dismantled pantry in partial order, against the
appearance of his long-suffering house-keeper, whose comments he dreaded
as he did those of no inspector general in the army. For fifteen years,
and whithersoever Webb was ordered, his bachelor _menage_ had been
presided over by Mistress Margaret McGann, wife of a former trooper, who
had served as Webb's "striker" for so many a year in the earlier days
that, when discharged for disability, due to wounds, rheumatism and
advancing years, and pensioned, as only Uncle Sam rewards his veterans,
McGann had begged the major to retain him and his buxom better half at
their respective duties, and Webb had meekly, weakly yielded, to the end
that in the fulness of time Dame Margaret had achieved an ascendancy
over the distinguished cavalry officer little short of that she had
exercised over honest Michael since the very day she consented to become
Mistress McGann. A sound sleeper was she, however, and not until morning
police call was she wont to leave her bed. Then, her brief toilet
completed, she would descend to the kitchen and set the major's coffee
on the fire, started by her dutiful spouse an hour earlier.
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