Alf Ringling and John Philip Sousa would take one
look at him--and then, mutually filled with an envious despair,
they would go apart and hold a grand lodge of sorrow together.
Also, he constantly wears his spurs and his sword; he wears them
even when he is in a cafe in the evening listening to the orchestra,
drinking beer and allowing an admiring civilian to pay the check
--and that apparently is every evening.
There was one Austrian colonel who came one night into a cafe in
Vienna where we were and sat down at the table next to us; and he
put our eyes right out and made all the lights dim and flickery.
His epaulets were two hairbrushes of augmented size, gold-mounted;
his Plimsoll marks were outlined in bullion, and along his garboard
strake ran lines of gold braid; but strangest of all to observe
was the locality where he wore what appeared to be his service
stripes. Instead of being on his sleeves they were at the extreme
southern exposure of his coattails; I presume an Austrian officer
acquires merit by sitting down.
This particular officer's saber kept jingling, and so did his
spurs, and so did his bracelet. I almost forgot the bracelet.
It was an ornate affair of gold links fastened on his left wrist
with a big gold locket, and it kept slipping down over his hand
and rattling against his cuff. The chain bracelet locked on the
left wrist is very common among Austrian officers; it adds just
the final needed touch.
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