[CHAPTER XVII]
That was a strange group that marched, three abreast, up the main street of Fairweather that Sunday morning of the riot. Sergeant Barriscale, with a rifle on each shoulder; on his right Corporal Manning, hatless, with bandaged head; and on his left, shuffling weakly along, General Chick.
“McCormack is going to get some glory out of this day,” said Manning.
“He deserves it,” responded Barriscale, sharply.
And Chick added: “I ain’t never seen nothin’ to beat it. Wasn’t that great?”
Then, again, for a few minutes, they walked on in silence, save as they were met and questioned by curious and excited people hurrying toward the plaza.
Sarah Halpert came speeding down the street in her car. When she saw the strange trio she ordered her driver to draw up to the curb.
“Tell me all about it, Ben!” she exclaimed. “Did you get hurt, Dick? What’s the matter with you, Chick? Where’s Hal? Is he in command of the company?”
“Yes, to everything, Miss Halpert,” replied Ben. “Dick got smashed on the head with a brickbat, Chick isn’t feeling very well, and I’m disgraced. We’re all going back to the armory.”
“But Hal? What’s he doing?”