Line up there, Letty! It won't hurt your gown.

Berkley'll get you another, anyway! Now, ladies and gentlemen, sit firmly in your saddles.

Caissons to the rear--march! Caissons, left about--pieces forward--march!" Wye's chair buckled and he came down with a splintering crash; Casson galloped madly about, pretending his chair had become unmanageable.

It, also, ultimately collapsed, landed him flat on his back, whence he surveyed the exercises of the _haute ecole_ in which three flushed and laughing young girls followed the dashing lead of Cortlandt, while Berkley played a cavalry canter on the piano with one hand and waved his cigar in the other.
Later, breathless, they touched glasses to the departing volunteers, to each other, to the ladies ("God bless them! Hear! He-ah!"), to the war, to every regiment going, to each separate battery horse and mule in Arthur's section.

And then began on the guns, "I prophesy a quick reunion!" said Berkley.