"Serve him the same way," said the Captain shortly, turning to go.
The Deacon's knees smote together. He, a Deacon of the Baptist Church, and a man of stainless repute at home, to have his head shaved and drummed out of camp. He would rather die at once. The guards had laid hands on him.
"Captain," he yelled again, "it's all a horrible mistake. I had nothin' to do with this man."
"Talk to the Lieutenant, there," said the Captain, moving off. "He will attend to you."
The Lieutenant was attentively watching the barbering operation. "Cut it close closer yet," he admonished the barber.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" pleaded the Deacon, awkwardly saluting.
"Stand back; I'll attend to you next," said the Lieutenant impatiently. "Now, tie his hands behind him."
The Lieutenant turned toward the Deacon, and the barber picked up his shears and made a step in that direction. Just in the extremity of his danger the Deacon caught sight of the Captain of Co. Q walking toward Headquarters.
"Capt. McGillicuddy! Capt. McGillicuddy! come here at once! Come quick!" he called in a voice which had been trained to long-distance work on the Wabash bottoms.
Capt. McGillicuddy looked up, recognized the waving of the Deacon's bandanna, and hastened thither. Fortunately he knew the Provost officers; there were explanations all around, and profuse apologies, and just as the fifes and drums struck up the "Rogue's March" behind the luckless storekeeper, who had to step off in front of a line of leveled bayonets, the Deacon walked away arm-in-arm with the Captain.