"This is Major Williams, sir," said the business-like youngster, and in an instant he was out on the platform again.
A tall, dust-colored officer rose to meet my extended card and hand, mild surprise in his eyes. "Major," said I, "Major Vinton, of the cavalry, lies dangerously ill in New Orleans. He is engaged to the sister of my friend, Colonel Summers. No train leaves here until nine to-night, and in our eagerness to get to Vinton before it be too late we ask to be taken with you."
For an instant the commanding officer was staggered by my impetuous harangue, but "he rallied."
"Major Vinton, say you? I'm distressed to hear it. I know him well by reputation, though it has not been my good fortune to meet him. We—we must find some way——Excuse me, let me speak one instant with the quartermaster."
He quickly stepped to a bulky, stolid-looking youth, and addressed him in few rapid words. The whistle blew,—my heart stood still. He sprang to a window, stuck out his head, and shouted,—
"A—a—Mr. Turpin. Stop the train. Don't start till I tell you."
"All right, sir," came back in the quick, sharp tones we had heard before.
Again the major and the stolid youth met. We heard snatches of the latter's words,—"no precedent, no authority,"—and my heart again sank. Like Mr. Perker of blessed memory, I was about to interpose with "But my dear sir, my dear sir," when Mr. Turpin burst in like a thunder-clap at the rear door.
"Jupiter Ammon, fellows! Blow the dust from your eyes if you want to see the prettiest girl in the South!"
"Never mind precedent; we'll make a precedent," broke in the major, impatiently. "Gentlemen,"—he turned to us,—"you see how forlorn are our surroundings, but you and yours are welcome." The whole thing took less time than it takes to read it.