The father smiled proudly as the youngster pretended to be taking notes of his imaginary interview.
"You heard, sir," he went on eagerly, "that your old General, Joe Wheeler, was there and in a moment of excitement forgot himself and shouted to his aid:
"'There go the damned Yankees!—charge and give 'em hell!'"
A dreamy look came into the father's eyes as he interrupted:
"I shouldn't be surprised if Wheeler said it—anyhow, it's too good a joke to doubt"—he paused and the smile on his serious face slowly faded.
"Shut the door, Tom," he said with a gesture toward the reporters' room.
The boy rose, closed the door, and sat down near his father's chair:
"Well, Dad, why so serious? Am I to be fired without a chance? or is it just a cut in my wages? Don't prolong the agony!"
"I am going to put you in my chair in this office, my son," the father said in a slow drawl. The boy flushed scarlet and then turned pale.
"You don't mean it—now?" he gasped.