“I ought not to have let you come with me,” said Ned. “It was weak and selfish in me to consent. You are feverish and excited, Tom; and you ought to have rested.”
“Just as if I was going to let you go off into danger without me!” said Tom.
“I am much obliged to you for the care you take of me,” said Ned; “but you see the work has been done without any trouble. The rebs are two miles away; and this will prevent them from making a detour, and getting in our rear if we advance.”
“Ned,” said Tom, “do you think that the Professor will bring my mother on to Washington with him?”
“Think!” said Ned. “I am sure he will, and that, when we return to camp, we shall find a message from her to you. Perhaps he’ll charter a train, and bring on a host of your female admirers, victorious masher of female hearts!”
“Don’t rough me, Ned,” said Tom.
“Well, now I know that you are going to be sick, Tom,” said Ned, “when you take that piteous tone, instead of answering me back. By Jove, there goes a beam, crash; and look, the fire has entirely died out of the other. We can’t leave the work half done in this way, we must hurry and finish it. The rebel pickets are probably back in camp by this time. Tom, order four men, and row that boat over to the other side for me.”
“Why, Ned!” asked Tom, “what are you going to do?”
“The fire has died out over there,” said Ned, “and the other beam is left. Here, O’Brien, I want that axe. I am going to cross on it, and cut it off where it is charred. Get the boat ready at once, captain.”