The little soldier muttered, and shuffled away. From under the brim of his campaign hat, his eyes cast furtive glances up and down the road. As though anxious to wipe out the effect of his comrade’s words, the sergeant addressed Lathrop suavely and in a tone of conciliation.
“You see,” he explained, “him and me are scouts. We’re not supposed to waste time taking prisoners. So, we’ll set you free.” He waved his hand invitingly toward the bicycle. “You can go!” he said.
To Miss Farrar’s indignation Lathrop, instead of accepting his freedom, remained motionless.
“I can’t!” he said. “I’m on post. My captain ordered me to stay in front of this house until I was relieved.”
Miss Farrar, amazed at such duplicity, exclaimed aloud:
“He is NOT on post!” she protested. “He’s a scout! He wants to stop here, because—because—he’s hungry. I wouldn’t have let you take him prisoner, if I had not thought you would take him away with you.” She appealed to the sergeant. “PLEASE take him away,” she begged.
The sergeant turned sharply upon his prisoner.
“Why don’t you do what the lady wants?” he demanded.
“Because I’ve got to do what my captain wants,” returned Lathrop, “and he put me on sentry-go, in front of this house.”
With the back of his hand, the sergeant fretfully scraped the three days’ growth on his chin. “There’s nothing to it,” he exclaimed, “but for to take him with us. When we meet some more Reds we’ll turn him over. Fall in!” he commanded.