“For I’m going to be different, I’m going to be good—abso-lutely good!”
CHAPTER XXIV
BANJO FACES INTO THE WEST
“You don’t tell me? So the old colonel’s got what his heart’s been pinin’ for many a year. Well, well!”
Mrs. Chadron was beside her window in her favored rocker again, less assertive of bulk in her black dress, not so florid of face, and with lines of sadness about her mouth and eyes. A fire was snapping in the chimney, for the gray sky was driving a bitter wind, and the first snowflakes of winter were straying down.
Banjo Gibson was before the fire, his ears red, his cheeks redder, just in from a brisk ride over from the post. His instruments lay beside him on the floor, and he was limbering his fingers close to the blaze.
“Yes, he’s a brigamadier now,” said he.
“Brigadier-General Landcraft,” said she, musingly, looking away into the grayness of the day; “well, maybe he deserves it. Fur as I’m concerned, he’s welcome to it, and I’m glad for Frances’ sake.”
“He’s vinegar and red pepper, that old man is! Takin’ him up both sides and down the middle, as the feller said, I reckon the colonel—or brigamadier, I guess they’ll call him now—he’s about as good as 313 they make ’em. I always did have a kind of a likin’ for that old feller—he’s something like me.”