Wipes went off, and Fitzhugh watched him from his window as the ship that bore the cargo of his safety or destruction. His figure, fine and erect, swung with vigorous strides along the diagonal path that crosses the Parade, and the boy, his eyes glued on that one dark-blue spot, did not see another figure advancing to meet it, till the man stopped sharply. Then, with a jump of his pulse, he saw who it was. But why should Julia Duncan be talking to Wipes? However, there was no time to meditate over that—it wouldn’t help to be late to cavalry-drill.
But a vision haunted him as he took hurdles with his arms crossed, and made flying leaps over his horse galloping down the tan-bark. It was the vision of a slim figure in a tailor-gown, a glory of red-gold hair gleaming under the black of her hat. That was all he had seen as she talked to Wipes, but he knew the details, the laughing face, the brilliant white, small teeth almost always showing, and the mischievous eyes with tawny lashes. A fascinating face, full of charm; and the drowsy voice, with a reedy note, like a child’s voice just awakened, the quick wit, and innocently naughty ways—he remembered all that, too.
In and out through the strenuous mazes of cavalry-drill went the glint of red hair and the shine of white teeth, and the echo of her laugh. The evening was his own till nine o’clock, and “a spirit in his feet” led him to the house where she stayed, Colonel Emerson’s house, looking up the river.
“What were you talking to Wipes about, on the Parade this afternoon?”
“Who is Wipes?” demanded the laughing, slow voice, and Fitzhugh thought how pleasant a thing it was to realize a vision and an echo.
“Why, Wipes—our policeman. You oughtn’t to talk to the men; they’re not allowed luxuries reserved for the corps.”
“Oh, you mean that bright-red soldier, Weiber—I forgot Jack called him Wipes. Why, I know him. Fascinating man! I know his wife, too. She’s not just fascinating; she’s always scrubbing the children, and I’m sure she’s right, for they never look finished. I go to see her sometimes. That is, I went yesterday.” And Fitzhugh reflected how nice it was in girls to go to see poor soldiers’ families. It flashed across him that perhaps he would stroll down to visit the Wipeses some day himself, when he knew she was to be there.
Nine o’clock was removed from eight by about five minutes that evening, and his dreams afterward were empty of little Marcus and filled with a bewitching, mischievous personality. But a shock was in store for him. The next day when Wipes appeared, his vermilion face seemed longer. Fitzhugh had waited for him feverishly.
“Is it all right, Wipesy? Did you get him off without trouble? How much do I owe you?”
“F’r me to sind in th’ bill whin th’ job’s done,” gulped Wipes.