“It’s the only thing which has prevented me from being a perfect villain,” he said. “It has kept me from the wine cup, and from the gambler’s den.”
“Pity it hadn’t kept you out of the Southern army,” was Bill’s dry response, and the stranger answered, eagerly:
“I wish it had, I wish it had! Please give it back, and I’ll swear allegiance to the veriest minion in Lincoln’s train.”
“I never thought no great of a turncoat,” Bill replied, closing the case, and still holding it in his hand. “If you’re a Southern dog, stay so, not go to barkin’ on both sides. We don’t want no traitors. Honest, though, corporal, where was you born? There’s a kind of nateral look in your face, as if I’d seen it afore,” and Bill laid the ambrotype upon the grass.
But with regard to his birthplace, the stranger was non-committal; and Bill continued:
“If I let you go, you’ll give me the watch?”
“Willingly, willingly.”
“And the spetacles?”
“Yes, oh yes.”
“And the glass bead ring?”