Shamefacedly the men looked at one another. Then, without a word, they set off at a walk for their camp, five miles away.
Dawn was breaking as Dad rode into a tent-street and up its long, straight course. At his side was a Union cavalry captain whom he had encountered when the first sentry and corporal of the guard at Hooker’s outposts had halted him.
On a little rise of ground, from which the streets of tents fell away on every side, was a farmhouse, commandeered by Major-General Hooker as temporary headquarters. And into a front room of this house, five minutes after his arrival, Dad was conducted.
General Hooker was picturesquely clad in a mere fraction of his uniform and was gulping down large mouthfuls of very black and very hot coffee from a tin dipper. In his other hand was a slice of unbuttered bread.
“Sergeant James Dadd, of the Blankth Ohio Infantry,” announced Dad, saluting, “with dispatches from Brigadier-General——”
He paused in consternation midway in his formal announcement.
To his amaze, General Hooker set down his portable breakfast on a window-sill, gaped in wonder for an instant at the courier, then burst into a fit of unextinguishable laughter.
“The dispatches, sir,” volunteered Dad, “are of the utmost importance, so I was told by General——”
“Importance!” gasped Hooker, weak with laughter. “Oh, man! Importance? Do you mean to say he didn’t tell you? Didn’t you even guess?”