“Come, old man, don’t keep the music waiting. They’ve got to toot or burst.”
The next moment he found himself standing on the platform beside the colonel, while on that of the adjoining car stood Billings, smiling affably, and evidently prepared to receive any honors that might be showered upon him.
“Men of the 50th,” said the colonel, in a loud, clear voice, that was distinctly heard by every one of those before him, “I have the honor of presenting to you a New York reporter who has rendered to us this day the greatest service one human being may render unto his fellows. His name is—” the colonel paused, lifted his hand, and with a mighty roar, startling in its suddenness and volume, the thousand throats of the regiment took the words from his mouth and shouted as one man.
“M-y-l-e-s M-a-n-n-i-n-g. Fizz-fizz-fizz, boom-boom-boom, Ti-gah!”
As the great shout rolled away among the listening mountains a sharp word of command rang out, and was echoed from company to company along the whole line. The band struck up “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and, marching as proudly as though under the eyes of the President of the United States, the superb, glittering regiment passed in review before bruised, ragged, mud-stained Myles Manning. Each company as it passed him presented arms, and the gleaming sword of each officer was raised in salute. It was not until they had all gone by that poor Myles remembered that in his bewilderment he had not acknowledged a single salute.
Billings had, though; and for whatever his fellow-reporter left undone the little man’s appreciative smiles and graceful hat-liftings amply atoned.
CHAPTER XVI.
RECALLED AND DISMISSED.