“What are you in such a hurry for?” he asked. “Wait a minute and I can walk home with you. I have a commission to execute back here.”
Accordingly I returned to the store with him, was introduced to the friend accompanying him, and after a few moments walked home between the two. But the tailor had given me a hint—I was to come still earlier next day.
The next morning, however, he signaled me to pass on as I was about to enter. At last one morning I caught him alone long enough to get my uniform.
“I have to be very careful lately,” he apologized for waving me off the previous day. “These Yankees suspect me and are always on the lookout. Now we will get the uniform in a hurry. I have several pieces of fine Confederate cloth just in that I will show you. Is your husband a private?”
“Oh, no-o!” I exclaimed indignantly.
“I thought not,” he said suavely. “What is his rank?”
“He is a captain of cavalry now. That is—he was when I left home. But I haven’t heard from him since. He may be major or colonel by now. Can’t you fix up a uniform that would do for him if he is a captain or a colonel or a major when I get back, or—that would do for a general?”
“Certainly, certainly, madam. Very wise of you to think of that.”
He showed me several pieces of very fine and beautiful cloth of Confederate gray, and I made my selection.
“The question is, how are you to get it across the line. In what way will you carry it?”