"'You coward!' she said bitterly, 'to run away at the first fire! Don't you know that the finger of scorn will be pointed at you all the rest of your life?'
"'That may be so, lady,' said the soldier doggedly, 'but I'd ruther hev the finger o' scorn pinted at me any time than one o' them damned Rebel cannon!'
"And another of the boys limping by, foot-sore and weary, was accosted by this same angry dame, 'You ran, did you? You ran! Shame! Shame! A big fellow like you! Why did you run?'
"'I run, mum, 'cause I couldn't fly, that's why I run!'"
"Yes, quite true; and yet, after all, how like the moon we are," muttered one of the newspaper men disconnectedly.
"How so?" inquired Senator Hammond acidly.
"Why, here we are, full—gloriously full—on the twentieth of the month, and eight days later, down to our last quarter."
"That's bad, very bad, O'Brien," said another scribe mournfully. "Forgive him, Senator. I will have something to say to him later." Withering glances were cast at the unlucky one, who seemed about to sink under the table, and the wind outside howled dismally, and rattled the windows in its rage.