"I mean, what army do you belong to?"
"Army o' the Cumberland, down at Chattanoogy."
"Indeed; I might say that I belong to that army myself. I'm going down that way, too. You see, my Congressman helped me get a contract for furnishing the Army o' the Cumberland with bridge timber, and I'm going down to Looeyville, and mebbe further, to see about it. We've just come from St. Louis, where I've bin deliverin' some timber in rafts."
"Where are you from?'
"Bad Ax, Wisconsin, a little ways from La Crosse."
It was Shorty's turn to start, and it flashed upon him just where he had seen that squarish face. It was in an ambrotype that he carried in his breastpocket. He almost choked on the merrythought of the chicken, but recovered himself, and said quickly:
"I have heard o' the place. Lived there long?"
"Always, you might say. Father took me there as a child during the mine excitement, growed up there, went into business, married, lost my wife, and married again. We're now on what you might call our bridal tower. I had to come down here on business, so I brung my wife along, and worked it off on her as our bridal tower. Purty cute, don't you think?"
And he reached over and tried to squeeze his wife's hand, but she repulsed it.
The bridegroom plied Shorty with questions as to the army for awhile after they had finished eating, and then arose and remarked: