Gentlemen--soldiers and civilians--I give you three toasts! Miss Carew, Miss Lynden, Miss Trent! Long may they dance! Hurrah!" "Get on the table," said Casson amid the cheering, and climbed up, spurs jingling, glass on high.
"Will it hold us all ?" inquired Letty Lynden, giving her hands to Berkley, who shrugged and swung her up beside him.

"Hurrah for the Zouaves!" she cried; "Hurrah for Billy Cortlandt!--Oh, somebody spilled champagne all over me!" "Hurrah for the artillery!" shouted Arthur Wye, vigorously cheering himself and waving his glass, to the terror of Ione Carew, who attempted to dodge the sparkling rain in vain.
"Arthur, you look like a troop of trained mice," observed Berkley gravely.

"Has anybody a toy cannon and a little flag ?" Wye descended with a hop, sprang astride a chair, and clattered around the room, imitating his drill-master.
"Attention! By the right of batteries, break into sections, trot.
Mar-r-rch! Attention-n-n! By section from the right of batteries--front into column.

Mar-r-rch!" "By section from the right, front into column, march!" repeated Cortlandt, jumping down from the table and seizing another chair.
"Everybody mount a chair!" he shouted.

"This is the last artillery drill of the season.