“He’s got power enough to put you where people won’t hear you say that,” said the officer, fastening his eyes sternly on Newman’s face. “He will put you in jail.”
“Well, I’ll bet he won’t put me in jail, neither. My father has got friends enough to tear it up.”
“Well, Cale, if you are going to hold to such doctrines as that you might as well go among the Confederates, where you belong. You don’t belong here, that is certain.”
“If you will give me a muel I won’t hold no such docterings,” said Newman. “I’ll be the loyalest fellow you ever see.”
The quartermaster looked at Newman in amazement.
“What kind of a fellow are you, any way?” he asked. “You are going to be loyal or not, just as you get paid for it.”
“That’s the way my father looks at it. You didn’t give him an office, and now he’s going to let you hoe your own row. Now, if I could have a muel to ride around—”
“Well, you’ll not get any, I can tell you that. And, furthermore, if I hear any more such talk from you I’ll have you arrested.”
“My father says—”
“I’ve heard enough. Don’t speak to me again. A man who will depend upon a mule for his loyalty don’t amount to much. Now go away, and don’t let me see you again.”