He stepped to one of the long windows, opened it, and went out on the balcony. The other young fellows clustered at his back or peered through the other windows.
“It’s the Richmond Greys,” said the observer outside.
There was an outburst of exclamations from the room, except from the operators, who had no time to spare from their work.
“Yes, that’s what they are. You can see their uniforms. They must be sending them down to the lines at Petersburg,” said another.
“Well, I don’t believe they would send the Greys out unless there was something going on to-night,” observed a third.
“To-night, why, good heavens, it’s as quiet as a tomb,” broke in a fourth. “I don’t hear a sound from the front.”
“That’s probably what’s worrying them. It is so damn unusual,” returned the first messenger.
“Things have come to a pretty pass if the Grandfathers of the Home Guard have got to go to the front,” remarked another.
“Following in the footsteps of their grandsons,” said the first. “I wish I could go. I hate this business of carrying telegrams and——”
“Messenger here!” cried Lieutenant Foray, folding up a message and inserting it in its envelope.