Ever optimistic, subsequent generals saw no point of seeking other quarters when at any time they might be continuing their advance towards the borders of Texas. On the afternoon of the fourth day after his grand review had been disrupted and ruined, General Horace Trumpeter paced restlessly about the first-floor front room which had been converted into his private office. Back and forwards he tramped; from the door, passing the large desk in the centre of the room and almost brushing against the drawn-back, heavy drapes of the window in turning. Once he came to a halt by the window, glowering across the balcony into the foliage of the fine old white-oak tree which spread so close to the balustrade. The sight of the tree and the well-kept gardens stretching to the high walls surrounding the property gave him no pleasure that day. Scowling across the lawns and flower-beds, liberally dotted and lined with decorative bushes, he gave an angry snort, then resumed his walking and thinking.
