“Or marched with Grant or Sherman,” chimed in Fred.
Their youthful imaginations quickened as they recalled the exciting scenes in which the veteran might have played a part, and they had a deep respect for him now as he sat there in his old age and weakness.
“I’d almost like to go up and get him to talking,” ventured Fred. “We might get him started on the war. It’s all very well to read about it, but there’s nothing like hearing from one who has been through it.”
“I don’t think I would if I were you,” objected Bobby. “He’s probably too tired to do much talking and would rather be left alone.”
“There’s another fellow going up to him now,” replied Fred, “and I’ll bet he’ll get some good stories out of him.”
He indicated a large overgrown boy who seemed to be about fourteen years old. Up to now, he had been seated on the other side of the aisle from the veteran. But now he had risen and gone over in his direction. But instead of slipping into the seat beside him, as the boys had expected, he sat down in the seat directly behind him.
“Guess again, Fred,” laughed Pee Wee good-naturedly.
“Everybody’s hunches go wrong sometimes,” answered Fred defensively.
“What’s the fellow up to anyway?” asked Mouser, with a sudden stirring of curiosity.
The newcomer seemed to have a long feather in his hand such as is commonly used in feather dusters. While the old man’s head drooped in a doze, the boy reached over and tickled the back of the old man’s neck with the tip of the feather.