"We'll lick 'em in two months!" a voice yelled in protest and the crowd cheered.
The leader shook his fine head.
"Don't deceive yourselves, my friends. War once begun, no man can predict its end—"
"It won't begin!" another cried.
"You have convinced me to-day that it is now inevitable."
"The Yankees won't fight!" shouted a big fellow in front.
The speaker bent his gaze on the stalwart figure in remonstrance.
"You never made a worse mistake in your life, my friend. I warn you—I know these Yankees. Once in it they'll fight with grim, dogged, sullen, unyielding courage. We're men of the same blood. They live North, you South—that's all the difference."
At every station the same scene was enacted. The crowd rushed around his car with the sudden sweep of a whirlwind, and left for their homes with grave, thoughtful faces.
By three o'clock in the afternoon he was thoroughly exhausted by the strain. The eager crowds had sapped his last ounce of vitality.