“Doctor,” said I, “it isn’t half-past seven yet, is it?” (It was about two o’clock, post meridian.)
I had hoped he would enjoy this joke, and good-naturedly laugh the affair off, but I saw no such indications on his stern countenance.
“Where have you been, Smith?” he asked. Do I say asked? I should say, demanded. That is putting it mildly enough.
“I went to Upton’s Hill to see my regiment,” I replied.
“Exactly. Upton’s Hill. Let me see—that is—”
“Upton’s Hill,” said I, “is about eight or nine miles from Alexandria, by the pike. From Washington, it is situated——”
In fact, I was going on to deliver a first class lecture on geography, when he interrupted me with:
“So you went there, eh? A pretty way to act! I gave you a pass a week ago to-day, as the records will show, telling you to return by half-past seven, and, until now, have not seen you or heard of you!”
“Well,” said I, still hoping that the affair might be accepted as a joke, “I am back, you see, before half-past seven. The mere matter of a week——”
“Go to your ward,” interrupted the Doctor, who did not seem to be in a joking mood.