That afternoon, as Tom and Robert were driving, Russell, noting the unwonted look of life and activity, and the gay flags flung to the breeze, demanded what it all meant. "Why," said he, "it is like a field day."
"It is so," answered Robert, "or what is the same; it is election day."
"Bless my soul! so it is; and a soldier to be elected. Have you voted?"
"No!"
"No? Here's a nice state of affairs! a fellow that'll get his arm blown off for a flag, but won't take the trouble to drop a scrap of paper for it. Come, I'll drive you over."
"You forget, Russell!"
"Forget? Nonsense! This isn't 1860, but 1865. I don't forget; I remember. It is after the war now,—come."
"As you please," said Robert. He knew the disappointment that awaited his friend, but he would not thwart him now.
There was a great crowd about the polling-office, and they all looked on with curious interest as the two young men came up. No demonstration was made, though a half-dozen brutal fellows uttered some coarse remarks.
"Hear the damned Rebs talk!" said a man in the army blue, who, with keen eyes, was observing the scene. "They're the same sort of stuff we licked in Carolina."