"It was too bad we had to fight, you mean." Harry Powell looked up. "Who is that coming?"
"Dat am Massah Jack, sah?"
"Oh! Why, when I was here before he was nothing but a little shaver." The young surgeon raised his voice. "Hullo, Jack! come here."
Wondering who it was who was calling him so familiarly, Jack came forward. He started back upon seeing Harry Powell, and in a Federal uniform.
"You!" he cried.
"Yes, Jack. Come, won't you shake hands with me?" and the young surgeon smiled good-naturedly.
"Well—that is—I don't like to shake hands with a—a Yankee," stammered Jack.
"Oh, so you object to my uniform?"
"I do, Harry. Why did you join the Yankees?"
"Because I thought it best. If you won't shake hands with me as a Yankee, won't you shake hands as a cousin?"