"I'm goin' into the smokin'-car for a smoke. Won't you come along with me, soldier, and have a cigar?"
"No, thankee," answered Shorty. "I'd like to, awfully, but the doctor's shut down on my smokin' till I git well."
As soon as he was well on his way the woman leaned forward and asked Shorty in an earnest tone:
"Did you say that you belonged to the 200th Ind.?"
"Yes'm," said Shorty very meekly. "To Co. Q."
"The very same company," gasped the woman.
"Did you happen to know a Mr. Daniel Elliott in that company?"
"Very well, mum. Knowed him almost as well as if he was my own brother."
"What sort of a man was he?"
"Awful nice feller. I thought a heap of him. Thought more of him than any other man in the company. A nicer man you never knowed. Didn't drink, nor swear, nor play cards, nor chaw terbacker. Used to go to church every Sunday. Chaplain thought a heap of him. Used to call him his right bower—I mean his strong suit—I mean his two pair—ace high. No, neither o' them's just the word the Chaplain used, but it was something just as good, but more Bible-like."