The Reds flushed, and the younger, a sandy-haired, rat-faced youth, retorted angrily: “Mebbe we ain’t strong on uniforms, beau,” he snarled, “but you’ve got nothing on us yet, that I can see. You look pretty with your hands in the air, don’t you?”
“Shut up,” commanded the other Red. He was the older man, heavily built, with a strong, hard mouth and chin, on which latter sprouted a three days’ iron-gray beard. “Don’t you see he’s an officer? Officers don’t like being took by two-spot privates.”
Lathrop gave a sudden start. “Why,” he laughed, incredulously, “don’t you know—” He stopped, and his eyes glanced quickly up and down the road.
“Don’t we know what?” demanded the older Red, suspiciously.
“I forgot,” said Lathrop. “I—I must not give information to the enemy—”
For an instant there was a pause, while the two Reds stood irresolute. Then the older nodded the other to the side of the road, and in whispers they consulted eagerly.
Miss Farrar laughed, and Lathrop moved toward her.
“I deserve worse than being laughed at,” he said. “I made a strategic mistake. I should not have tried to capture you and an army corps at the same time.”
“You,” she taunted, “who were always so keen on soldiering, to be taken prisoner,” she lowered her voice, “and by men like that! Aren’t they funny?” she whispered, “and East Side and Tenderloin! It made me homesick to hear them! I think when not in uniform the little one drives a taxicab, and the big one is a guard on the elevated.”
“They certainly are very ‘New York,’” assented Lathrop, “and very tough.”