“You have not the look of a man who has been a heavy drinker,” said Hooker, noting the lean and muscular figure, the clear and level eyes, the firm mouth.
Dad made no comment.
Hooker spoke again.
“There is much curiosity about you in your corps, Major Dadd,” said he. “And while I have no wish to pry into any man’s personal affairs, yet the interests of all my officers are close to me. And I do not like to have rumors about them spread among the men. Soldiers are worse gossips than spinsters.
“Your action in last week’s affair was not like that of a man recently promoted from the ranks—a man who, until a year or so ago, was a mere civilian. The tactics you made use of in extricating your demi-corps from a bad corner were those of a strategist. Other officers are commenting on that.”
He paused.
Dad looked at him miserably. The past that he had so carefully buried was stirring in its grave. The old disgrace threatened to rise, to rob him of all he had so hardly earned.
Where there was gossip and curiosity there was fairly certain to be plenty of amateur investigation. And investigation might readily unearth the truth. There were many men in the Army of the Potomac who had served in Mexico.
“Is there any good reason for concealing the fact that you had held a commission before this present war?” went on the general. “It was clear to me the first day I saw you. I knew it by the way you drew your sword. Let me say again that I have no wish to break in upon any man’s privacy. But I wish you to know that others are asking questions. And to tell you that the truth often stops the circulation of such rumors as you might not care to have circulated.”
“Rumors?”