“We marched up here to assault you with eleven hundred men, sir.”
“And only two hundred escaped! That’s doing pretty good work.”
Leon was astonished when he found out that so small a number of Confederates had got away, and then, seeing that the conversation between the President and the rebel captain had ceased, he began looking around for his father. He found him at last sitting at a table in a remote corner of the room, and walked up and placed his hand upon his shoulder. Mr. Sprague looked up, and finding Leon’s face beaming down upon him, put his pen in his mouth and extended his hand.
“Halloo, Leon; you have got back, haven’t you?” he exclaimed; and for the first time in his life he saw his father’s eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, sir, I have got back. Where’s Mr. Smith?”
“Mr. Smith has got his death-wound, I am afraid,” said his father, looking down at the paper on which he was writing with a most gloomy expression. “He wants to see you bad, and I would advise you to go down to him at once. You will find him in the parlor, lying on the sofa.”
Leon waited to hear no more, but worked his way through the men toward the door, stopping to shake hands with this one, or to give a bow and a smile to another, and presently found himself in the parlor. The doctor was there and bending over the wounded man, and so was a distant relative of his, who seemed determined that the doctor should not exchange any words with Mr. Smith without he could hear them. Leon had never liked that man, Leonard Smith. It is true that he had never worked for his father, nor for Mr. Smith, either, for there was something about him that neither of the gentlemen approved of. He was constantly telling around that he was going to have a lot of money one of these days, and nobody knew where he was going to get it. Mr. Smith had a little, just how much no one knew, and it was very clear to everyone that Leonard Smith wouldn’t get any of it when he got done with it. Mr. Smith had often been heard to declare:
“I’ll never help a man who is too lazy to help himself. What does that Leonard Smith do to earn his living? He works at the logs about half the time, and the balance he spends in visiting me. I have often told him to go to work, but he won’t do it. He is a sort of second cousin to me, but all the same he has no claim on me.”
When Leon came into the parlor Mr. Smith turned his head and saw him. With more strength than a person of his injuries would be likely to show he thrust out his hand and welcomed him in his cheery way.
“Why, Leon, where have you been?” exclaimed the wounded man. “Come here and tell me all about it. Now, doctor, I can get along without any more help until I get through with Leon. Take everybody out of the room.”