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Suddenly two of them began dancing.
In their big rawhide boots, with hobbed soles and steel-shod heels, they
pounded back and forth, while the others whooped them on. One of the
dancers gave out presently; but the other seemed still unimpaired in
wind and limb. He darted into an adjoining room and came back in a
minute dragging a half-frightened, half-pleased little Belgian scullery
maid and whirled her about to waltz music until she dropped for want of
breath to carry her another turn; after which he did a solo--Teutonic
version--of a darky breakdown, stopping only to join in the next song.
It was eleven o'clock and they were still singing when we left them and
went groping through dark hallways to where our simple hay mattress
awaited us. I might add that we were indebted to a corporal of lancers
for the hay, which he pilfered from the feed racks outside after
somebody had stolen the two bundles of straw one of us had previously
purchased. Except for his charity of heart we should have lain on the
cold flagging.


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