“Who am I? Tom Somers, of course. Do you belong to that regiment that stopped over yonder last night?” asked Tom, with a proper degree of enthusiasm. “Don’t you know me?”
“Well, we don’t.”
“Didn’t you see me over there? That’s a bully regiment of yours. I’d like to join it.”
“Would you, though, sonny?” said Sid, laughing till his mouth opened wide enough for a railroad train to pass in.
“Wouldn’t I, though!” replied Tom. “If there’s any big fighting done, I’ll bet your boys do it.”
“Bet your life on thet,” added Jarvey. “But why don’t you jine a regiment?”
“Don’t want to join any regiment that comes along. I want to go into a fighting regiment, like yours.”
“Well, sonny, you ain’t big enough to jine ours,” said Sid, as he compassionately eyed the young man’s diminutive proportions.
“The old man wouldn’t let me go in when I wanted to, and I’m bound not to go in any of your fancy regiments. I want to fight when I go.”
“You’ll do, sonny. Now, what ye doing here?”