There was a moment’s silence; the young man upon the settle clasped one knee with his hands and studied George intently.
“You are a stranger hereabouts, I take it,” said he.
George nodded. “Yes,” was his brief reply.
Again there was a silence. Young Prentiss, without seeming to do so, examined the other as intently as he was himself being examined. And, gradually, the impression grew more and more upon him that Merchant Camp’s nephew was keying himself to say something which he considered of much importance. Several times the lieutenant bent forward and seemed upon the point of speaking; but each time he sank back, his lips still closed and an expression of indecision upon his face. At length, however, he seemed resolved to make the plunge. With voice so lowered as to be almost a whisper, he said:
“It is rumored that Washington will soon be here.”
George stared at him; so ludicrously tame did the saying seem after all the cautious hesitation that had preceded it that he almost laughed. But the expression upon Herbert Camp’s face prevented this; it was one of eager expectation—of almost painful interest. A suspicion flashed upon George; a suspicion and a fear.
“It’s a great deal like a test—a signal by which one person makes himself sure of another,” he told himself.
Instantly he was all attention. Bending his head courteously, he replied:
“I have heard the rumor myself, and think that it is true.”
This answer did not repel the other; but at the same time it did not satisfy him, either. He arose and leaning against the brick mantle began slapping at his boot leg with a riding whip.