“As I live,” cried Onslow, “there’s a tear in his eye! What does it mean, Charley?”
“If it is a tear, respect its sanctity,” replied Kenrick, gravely.
“Gentlemen, I must go,” said Robson, who found the atmosphere getting to be unjoyous and uncongenial. “Good by! I’ve a polite invitation to be present at a meeting to raise money for the outfit of a new regiment. Between ourselves, if it were a proposition to supply the alligators in our bayous with gutta-percha tails, I would contribute my money much more cheerfully, assured that it would do much more good, and be a far more profitable investment. Addio!”
No sooner had he gone than Kenrick said: “Let us adjourn to your room. I have something to say to you.”
In silence the friends passed out of the hall and up-stairs into Onslow’s sleeping apartment.
“Kenrick,” said he, “your manner is inexplicable. It chills and distresses me. If I can do anything for you before I go North to fight for the stars and bars—”
“Never will you lift the arm for that false flag!” interrupted Kenrick. “You will join me this very hour in cursing it and spurning it.”
“Charles, your hate of the Confederacy grows morbid. Let it not make us private as well as public enemies.”
“No, Robert, we shall be faster friends than ever.”
And Kenrick affectionately threw his arms round his friend and pressed him to his breast.