“It may be,” said Winthrop, “that the accident will prove to have been caused by an explosion on board.”
“Shucks!” said Julian. “That’s rubbish! The Spaniards did it, as sure as fighting, and, by Jupiter, if they think they can blow up our ships and kill our men and not suffer for it—— How long do you reckon it’ll be, Major, before we declare war on them?”
“Can’t say; maybe a week, maybe a month. I reckon Congress will have to chew it over awhile. But it’s bound to come, and—well, I reckon I’m out of it, Julian,” concluded the Major, with a sigh.
“But I’m not!” cried the other. “I’ll go with the hospital corps. It’s the chance of a lifetime, Major! Why, a man can get more experience in two weeks in a field hospital than he can in two years anywhere else! Why——”
“The bell has rung,” interposed Miss India. “You must take dinner with us, Major, and tell us everything you know. Dear, dear, I feel quite worked up! I remember when the news came that our army had fired on Fort Sumter——”
Winthrop laid his hand on the Major’s arm and halted him.
“Major,” he said, smiling slightly, “don’t you think you ought to explain to them that the Maine wasn’t a Confederate battleship, that she belonged to the United States and that probably more than half her officers and men were Northerners?”
“Eh? What?” The Major stared bewilderedly a moment. Then he chuckled and laid one big knotted hand on Winthrop’s shoulder. “Mr. Winthrop, sir,” he said, “I reckon all that doesn’t matter so much now.”