“That is a duty,” replied the lieutenant, “which we owe to the parents of our men when they are seriously ill. And I think your son has been seriously, though not dangerously, ill.”
“Yes; I have talked with the surgeon, who thinks his escape from something far worse than this was extremely fortunate.”
“And I am extremely glad,” added the lieutenant, “that he is so well on the road to recovery, and will soon be back with us. We all appreciate him and need him. He is an ideal soldier.”
The words came unconsciously, almost impetuously. If McCormack had stopped to consider he might not have uttered them. Still he made no attempt to modify them, for he knew that they were true.
But the heart of the father had been touched; and if any feeling of prejudice or resentment against his son’s one time rival had remained with him prior to his journey south, it vanished in this moment. Blunt and direct in meeting opposition to his will, he was equally blunt and direct in acknowledging his faults or mistakes, or expressing his gratitude or approval.
“I want to thank you, sir,” he said, “for your generosity. Your conduct toward my son since the day of the riot has been more than magnanimous.”
“You are very kind to think so and to say so,” replied the lieutenant modestly.
“And I want to say further,” went on the manufacturer, “that while there was a time when I doubted your true Americanism, that time has passed. Your conduct as an officer has proved your worth as a patriot. You have lived up to the best traditions of the American soldier. I admire your judgment, sir, and your patience and skill, and broad-mindedness, and——”