For a long time he sat with moody face; this was unusual for him, for cheerfulness was his leading characteristic. The girls strove to arouse him, but he would emerge from his abstraction only for a moment at a time; the next would see him with folded arms staring at the floor, or regarding Master Hawkins with fixed and speculative eye.
Later in the evening he was chatting with Lieutenant Claflin, and some others, when he noted a tall, fine-looking officer go by; and at his side was Tobias Hawkins, smiling and genial, and apparently relating some witticism—for the officer, as they passed, laughed gaily.
“Gates is a handsome fellow,” said a civilian youth to one of the young officers in the group. “And a good-humored one, I think.”
The young officer grimaced.
“I have served under him,” he said. “And I found him good-humored if one played the jester to him. With the sun shining, give me Gates; but with an overcast sky, I would prefer some more stable person.”
The young civilian looked astonished.
“Why,” said he, “is it possible that General Gates is not thought highly of in the army? I take from your tone that you meant that,” in hurried explanation.
“I did mean it,” smiled the youthful officer. “Gates has the military knowledge—no one can deny that—but,” and the speaker tapped his forehead with one finger, “it is here that he is deficient. He has not the judgment, the depth, that ability to apply his knowledge which makes the general.”
Lieutenant Claflin laughed, as did some others.
“Oh, come now, Hungerford,” said Claflin, “don’t be so severe upon the general. Remember, he has been engaged in military service of one sort or another for only thirty years, while you have worn a sword for as long a time as six months.”