Ben laughed.
“Oh, General Greene likes his little joke, sir,” remonstrated he. “He loves to make much of these little matters of experience.”
“Ah, you rogue, you can’t deceive me. You are a hero, sir, that’s what you are. And not only General Greene tells me so, but others as well.”
Here Miss Betsy and some other young ladies took Ben in charge and stationing themselves in an excellent place for observation, began to point out all the noted figures of the day, who were as yet unknown to the camp. A handsome, rather reckless-looking man of middle size and carrying himself with a swaggering, dragoon-like air, attracted the attention of the lad in a very few moments.
“And who is that?” he inquired.
“It’s Colonel Conway,” replied one of the girls. “He was born in Ireland, but has lived most of his life in France.”
“A very gallant and capable officer, I have heard,” remarked another.
“He may be all you say, but I don’t care for him,” spoke a third. “There is something about him which is repelling.”
“Some of the members of Congress do not find him so,” said Betsy Claflin, wisely. “He has only been in the country a short time, but already there is quite a movement in his favor. I have heard it said that there are some who think of raising him at once to an important command.”
The young lady who had first spoken now turned a cautious look about to note if any one were paying attention whom she did not take into her confidence. Her voice was very low and her manner profoundly secret as she said: