So Master Samuel Powers made his way awkwardly and blushingly up between benches and tables, to the platform. At the steps he stumbled, recovered himself with a masterly jerk, and continued on his course. Turning to the audience, red-faced and frightened, he began to search in his pockets for something that he had evidently mislaid. Into his coat pockets and trousers pockets, each side in turn, outside and inside, he searched with increasing desperation, but in vain. Then he tried the pockets all over again, with the same result. The audience began to see the comical side of the boy’s embarrassment, and half-suppressed laughter was heard throughout the tent. Some one in the crowd yelled:—
“Cough it up, Sam! cough it up! You’ve swallered it!”
And a boy’s voice somewhere in the rear responded:—
“Aw, snakes! Let ’im alone. He’s got it in his head. Give it to ’em, Sammy, boy! Chuck it at ’em! Go it!”
Thus adjured, Sam advanced to the front of the platform.
“I had a paper,” he said, “to read from, but I guess I’ve lost it. Anyway, what I want to say is that two years ago us boys had a military company here. An’ we’ve got it yet. An’ we’re goin’ to keep it. Well, two years ago Bob Bannister tried to get in the company an’ we wouldn’t let ’im in because—” he gave a frightened glance at Rhett Bannister, sitting below him—“I might as well tell—because his father was a copperhead. Well, after what happened we got a little ashamed of ourselves, an’ when we heard how he was fightin’ down there in a real company, we were all sorry we hadn’t let him in. So when our captain moved away we elected Bob Bannister captain, with leave of absence till the war was over. But somehow or another that didn’t seem to be quite enough to do. An’ then when we heard about Five Forks we got together an’ chipped in, and our fathers helped us a little, and we bought him the best sword an’ silk sash that Henry Bradbury could find in New York, an’ we want to give it to him here to-day. Say, Bill Hinkle, bring that sword up here!”
Thunders of applause greeted Sam’s remarks. Some one took Bob by the arm and dragged him to the platform, and when he had received the sword, which was indeed a beauty, there were insistent calls for a speech. Bob looked down to his father for help and inspiration, and as he did so the audience saw on his head the long, red, ragged scar over which the hair had not yet grown, and then the applause was renewed with threefold vehemence.
Finally he managed to stammer out:—
“I can’t make a speech. I’m sure this tribute from the boys has touched my heart. I know I’m very grateful to you all for the way you’ve welcomed me. I’ll never forget this day, and—and I guess that’s all.”