"That's Payne," said one, interrupting the major unceremoniously at a step outside.
"Payne never walked that fast in his life," was the reply. "Payne was born tired. There's somebody with him."
The door opened, and Deane Lee in gray tweed, from foot to forage-cap the dashing soldier, saluted. "Honor to report from Captain Nettles," he said, touching his cap. Military titles prevail on such occasions.
"Will you join us?" said Payne, motioning to the refreshments, as Mason read the note.
"Don't care if I do. Plain: no cooked drinks for me," said the envoy briefly.
This struck the major as having a judicial bearing upon the coats of the stomach. He cocked his chin and began unconsciously to imitate the dashing stranger.
"An unfortunate affair," said Payne. He had thought it amusing, absurd, but something in this young fellow impressed him also, and he said it, and meant it.
"D—— unlucky!" said the other, in much the same tone as if he had said "lucky." "But my man is all right. He had to hunt me up, or I'd been in your lines before now." He took the ice from the tumbler, dashed off the moisture, and ate it like a salamander.
The major was possessed. He whispered behind his hand to his neighbors, "Never saw but one like him."
"Who?" asked several, for the easy, cool assurance of Bob Nettles's second affected them all.