What could that something be? He thought of many things by the way: a dollar; a knife; a new pair of boots with red tops, such as Lysander himself wore;—which last item reminded him of the bootjack he had been used for, and the kick he had received.
He stopped in the street, his wrath rising up again at the recollection. "Good mind ter go back, and not do his old arrant." But then he thought of the smiles and compliments, and the promised reward. "Somefin' kinder decent 'bout dat mis'ble Sprowl, 'long wid a heap o' mean tings, arter all!" And he started on again.
Lysander's note was in these words:—
"Leiutent Ropes Send me with the bearrer of This 2 strappin felloes capble of doin a touhgh Job."
This letter was duly signed, and duly delivered, and it brought the "2 strappin felloes." The internal evidence it bore, that Lysander had not pursued his studies at school half as earnestly as he had of late pursued the schoolmaster, made no difference with the result.
The two strapping fellows returned with Toby. They were raw recruits, who had travelled a long distance on foot in order to enlist in the confederate ranks. They had an unmistakable foreign air. They called themselves Germans. They were brothers.
"All right, Toby!" said Lysander, well pleased. "What are you bowing and grinning at me for? O, I was to give you something!"
"If you please, sar," said Toby—wretched, deceived, cajoled, devoted Toby.
"Well, you go to the woodshed and bring the clothes line for these fellows—to make a swing for the ladies, you know—then I'll tell you what you're to have."
"Sartin, sar." And Toby ran for the clothes line.