"Why, yes, we can do that, of course, Mrs. Overton," Noll agreed readily. "But wouldn't you rather wait a few days and see if we don't obtain the right to wear officers' uniforms?"
"That won't happen in ages," declared Hal's mother warmly. "Every one over in Washington is sound asleep during these hot days. Mrs. Terry and I will have to wait until winter if we must wait to see you both put on lieutenants' uniforms."
"I'm horribly afraid that my mother will have to wait even longer than that," sighed Noll.
Tr-r-r-r-rill! sounded a shrill whistle up the street.
"I wonder if he's coming here?" murmured Mrs. Overton nervously.
Tr-r-r-rill! "Overton!" sounded the postman's voice. "Oh—young Overton!"
Hal fairly bounded out of the little parlor, through the short hallway, and pulled the front door open.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Colton," was Hal's almost shaky greeting. Hal had known this postman ever since the young soldier had been a boy in his first trousers.
"Good afternoon, Hal," rejoined the postman. "One letter—for you. I'll be back to ask you about it to-morrow morning."
Hal stood in the doorway, almost dazed. It was a long, official-looking envelope that he held in his hand. Up in one corner he made out the words, "War Department—Official Business."