“Thank you!”
“And you ride pretty well!”
“Again thanks! I had a dim impression that you rode well yourself. But you and your escort seemed anxious to cast a cloud of dust upon your merits. My glimpse was only fleeting.”
“Let me see. We did go off rather hastily. Oh yes! You frightened our horses; I remember now! We had paused to admire the landscape when you burst upon us suddenly and put our steeds to flight.”
They laughed at this ingenuous explanation and paused to heed a bit of by-play between their hostess and Copeland on the labor question. Every one contributed to the talk until the hostess, who professed radical views, changed the subject.
“Colonel Merriam is your—”
“Mr. Merriam, please. He’s my uncle. He doesn’t allow any one to call him colonel.”
“I beg your pardon, and his! He’s unique if he doesn’t care for a title. He was an officer, wasn’t he, in the Civil War?”
“He was something; but he never mentions it.” Then brightly, with her frankest air: “You may have met him during the war.”
“Thank you, immensely! My enemies have always charged me with extreme youth. I am grateful beyond any words for the years you credit me with! But we were rebels. Please don’t be shocked; my people were all rebels.”