"The same squint-eyed, pasty-faced pup that did you, I s'pose. Sa-ay, Shorty, you're all right. They can't keep you 'soon as they know who you are. The officer of the day comes at nine o'clock and you'll be let off all right. But I'm in a hole. Say a good word for me. Help me out, and I can tell you things about that school you'd give a heap to know. Remember the day of the fire in Twenty-fifth Street?—the day the peeler wasn't going to let you pass, and I pulled you through?"
How could the lad forget it! A policeman had tried to drive him back when he would have worked his way up along 28's line of hose, and Desmond gave him the big nozzle to take forward to the pipeman. Of course he remembered it, and how proud he was that when it came to "soaking down," and the big nozzle was screwed on in place of the three-quarter inch, the wearied pipeman let him take hold. Of course he remembered.
"But how'd you get here?" he asked. "How'd you know me so quick?"
"Lord! I seen you every day for a week when we were camped near you up there at Kalorama. Second Fire Zouaves I'm in,—Major Moriarty. We was down here on a frolic the other night, an' could 'a' got back all right, but there was a fire on the avenue, an' we piled out onto an engine, an' when the fire was out the fellers took us round to their house and salooned us to the best in the market, an' the next thing the patrol got us, and this shanghai lieutenant out here shoved us into the cells for offerin' to lam him in front of the guard. Sa-ay, ain't I seen that feller smokin' cigarettes round the stable next the school? If 'tain't him, it's like enough to him to be his twin brother. If 'tis him, you get me out of this and I can tell you things you and Snipe ought to know. Lay low, Shorty; here comes that big shanghai sergeant. Sa-ay, ain't he a rooster? Do what you can for us, boy, will you?"
And there was no time for more. Straight to the cage the sergeant stalked, and for the life of him Shorty couldn't help standing attention, as he did to his brigadier-general.
"I got those despatches," said the sergeant, "and sent them right on, and I've sent word to the officer of the day, and he'll be here presently. Better let me explain. You're too excited yet."
And under ordinary circumstances such might, indeed, have been the wiser course, but there were other surprises in store for Shorty and his guardians too. Even while the tall sergeant was asking certain questions there came the hoarse cry of the sentry in front of the building, "Turn out the guard! Officer of the day!" There was a scurry of feet, a banging of musket-butts, a word of command, a clash of steel, and after a moment or two of parley without there came through the dark hallway an officer whom Shorty saw to be a captain of infantry. His sash was old and weather-stained, his uniform a trifle shabby, but in every move there was the ease and swing of the old soldier. Hurrying after and ranging up beside him came another, an officer whose sash, belt, and dress were as spick and span, new and glossy as those of the officer of the guard, an officer who looked a trifle less at home in them than did the veteran on his right, but at sight of his face the light danced up in Shorty's eyes, and, forgetful of discipline, of regulation, of martial etiquette, propriety, he sprang forward with a cry of joy. Barely four months earlier, from his perch on the lamp-post and through blinding tears, the boy had marked him striding down Broadway at the head of a famous company of a famous regiment. Now here again he appeared, in the garb of the regular army.
"Mr. Winthrop—Captain Winthrop! Don't you know me? Regy Prime!"
And another of Pop's old boys, another Columbiad, another of New York's National Guardsmen, turned regular soldier,—the new captain threw aside his book and grabbed the youngster's hands.
"In the name of all that's preposterous, Regy, what are you doing here?"