To The Front | Page 2

Twenty-five years had Bonner known that now gray-haired,

gray-mustached veteran. Twenty-five years had he liked him, admired
him, and much of late had he sought to know him, but Hazzard was a
man he could not fathom.
"Fifteen years ago," said he to a fellow-magnate, "I told that man if he'd
quit soldiering, and bring Carrie and the children to Chicago, I'd
guarantee him an income ten times the regular pay he's getting; and he
smiled, thanked me, and said he was quite content--content, sir, on two
thousand a year, and so, too, was Sis. Now, think of that!"
And Bonner was bubbling over with the same idea to-day, yet
beginning to see light. Two prominent senators, men of world-wide
renown, held Hazzard long in close conference, and were merely civil
to him, the magnate, who, as he said, "could buy the three of 'em three
times over." A general whose name was but second to that of Grant
seized his brother-in-law by both hands, and seemed delighted to greet
him, yet had barely a word for "his millions," him to whom the Board
of Trade bowed humbly at home. A great war secretary, whom they
had recently dined at the Grand Pacific and whose dictum as to the
purchase of supplies meant much to Chicago, but vaguely remembered
and absently greeted the man of wealth, yet beamed with pleasure at
sight of his small-salaried soldier companion. The secretary drew
Hazzard off to one side, in fact, and left the man of stocks and the
stock-yards standing.
That evening, after the simple home dinner, with Carrie and the young
people and the colonel smiling about the board, Bonner's vexation of
spirit found vent. Duties drew the soldier away, and the banker was left
with his sister.
"What is your pay now, Carrie?" he abruptly asked.
"A row of threes, John--$333.33 a month," was the amused answer.
"And Hazzard's been through two wars, Heaven knows how many
campaigns and vicissitudes, and been serving the United States, night
and day, some thirty years, and that's all he has to show for it, every
cent of which has to go for living expenses--rearing, feeding, clothing,

and educating these youngsters."
"Pretty nearly. We've a little laid by for Jack's college, and the
President gives Lou his cadetship, you know, but"--and here the
blithe-faced little woman looked archly at "Uncle John," though her
look was one that said, "I mean every word of this"--"we don't think
that's all there is to it, by any manner of means. Think of his war record!
Isn't that a proud thing to leave to our boys? See how he is regarded by
the best men in our country, from the President down! He is not yet an
old man, but he has 'all that should accompany old age--love, honor,
obedience, troops of friends'--and, honestly, John, with health and
competence and us, what more should he want?"
"Well," said Bonner, tenaciously, "I could have put him where he
would have been worth three hundred thousand by this time."
"And it wouldn't have tempted him; and I'd rather see him as he is."
"Well, I'm blessed if I can understand it," said Bonner. Then callers put
a stop to the chat. Then the colonel himself came home to his cosey
quarters, and silence had settled down over the beautiful plain. The
lights were dimmed in the barracks; the sentries paced their measured
rounds; from the verandas of the hotel came the ripple of murmured
words and soft laughter, and a tinkle of banjo and guitar. At the gate the
colonel exchanged good-night greetings with a happy-faced, motherly
looking woman whom Bonner had noticed overwhelmed with pride
and emotion during the ceremonies in the morning. He did not at first
recognize the tall, erect young fellow on whose arm she proudly leaned
as she walked home through the shifting moonlight.
"That was young Graham, in whom you were so interested this
morning," said Hazzard, briefly.
"Was it? Oh, I thought he'd gone with the graduates."
"Only down to the city to say good-bye. He came back to his mother by
late train. I fancy she's more to him than a lot of fun with the boys."

"See here, Hazzard," observed Bonner, solemnly, "I've been looking
into things here nigh onto a week. It's fine! It's all right for a soldier
school! But, now take that young chap for a sample. What on earth
does he know outside of drill and mathematics and what you call
discipline? What could he do in case we cut off all this--this
foolishness--and came down to business? I'd be willing to bet a sweet
sum that, take him out of the army, turn him loose in the streets, and
he'd starve, by gad! before he could ever earn enough to