Prescott laughed.
"At that rate, mother," he replied, "the ten will have to whip the hundred thousand, which is a heavier proportion than the old one, of one Southern gentleman to five Yankees. But, seriously, a war is not won by mere mathematics. It is courage, enthusiasm and enterprise that count."
She did not answer, but poured him another cup of coffee. Prescott read her thoughts with ease. He knew that though hers had been a Southern husband and hers were a Southern son and a Southern home, her heart was loyal to the North, and to the cause that she considered the cause of the whole Union and of civilization.
"Mother," he said, the breakfast being finished, "I've found it pleasant here with you and in Richmond, but I'm afraid I can't stay much longer. My shoulder is almost cured now."
He swung his arm back and forth to show how well it was.
"But isn't there some pain yet?" she asked.
Prescott smiled a little. He saw the pathos in the question, but he shook his head.
"No, mother," he replied, "there is no pain. I don't mean to be sententious, but this is the death-grapple that is coming. They will need me and every one out there."
He waved his hand toward the north and his mother hid a little sigh.
Prescott remained at home all the morning, but in the afternoon he went to Winthrop's newspaper office, having a direct question in mind.