THE two men had spun about from the window as the small human whirlwind burst into the room. Jimmie’s first words had been launched at McClellan with almost incoherent velocity.
The army of the Potomac’s commander frowned in annoyed perplexity at the disheveled little apparition and the almost shouted address. Hooker, on the contrary, stared for an instant, then burst into a great guffaw.
The next moment the door burst open again.
In rushed the military secretary, very purple of face. Behind him was the stomach-smitten sentinel, his visage still greenish and pain-twisted from the blow.
“General!” spluttered the secretary. “I—this—”
“What does this mean?” sternly demanded McClellan, finding his voice. The sentinel, at a gesture from the secretary, collared the boy again and started to carry him bodily from the room.
“Wait, you!” shrilled Jimmie. “You lemme go! There’s more to my message. I forgot. Dad told me to tell—”
“Shut up, you crazy little scarecrow!” growled the sentinel under his breath, bestowing a vicious shake which the boy promptly resented by an excruciating kick on his captor’s shins.
“Dad told me to tell you how we came to find the paper,” finished Jimmie loudly. “We picked it up on a hill out—”
The sentinel had him at the door of the room by this time, the empurpled secretary bringing up the rear.