“Here, Pearson, bring that parcel of newspapers that we took from the sutler’s wagon,” called Monck.
A soldier advanced from a remote part of the room, bringing in his arms a large bundle of papers, which he laid upon the table.
“Colonel Rosenthal, here are Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington papers. None of them are over two days old, and therefore as likely to be new to you as they were to me. Pray take them, and amuse yourself while I try to study out this cursed course on the map. You will remain here and dine with me to-day. And you will make yourself at home in the house, and within the limits of the camp consider yourself at liberty.”
Justin bowed, took up the parcel of papers, and withdrew to an unoccupied window seat to look over them.
And Monck resumed the study of his map, probably trying to make out the shortest and safest route to the rendezvous at the Black Bear’s Pass.
So several hours went by quietly enough.
Monck remained seated at the table, tracing lines on his map and making memoranda on his paper, or receiving reports and giving instructions to the officers and men who were continually coming and going.
Colonel Rosenthal remained in the window seat, occupied with his newspapers.
At length, about four o’clock in the afternoon, Monck impatiently arose from the table, and sweeping his maps and papers into a heap, exclaimed:
“Put all these things out of my sight. The more I puzzle myself over them, the more I addle my brains. And tell them to serve dinner immediately. I want it.”