“Gentlema’—my dear fren’s, our gen’ral express himself prepare to greet your illustrious peersonages—one and every one—in his quarters at once. Would you be deigned to follow my poor leadership?”
“Holy Father!—where’s my dress-suit?” Feeney asked with a start.
“Such an honor does not increase our chances for watching the next battle at close-range,” observed Finacune.
Nookie-san led them through the dust past innumerable battalions, until on a rising trail the sentries became as thick as fire-flies. After a twenty-minute walk they reached the summit of a commanding hill. At the entrance of a large tent paper-lanterns were hung, and below in the light Kuroki’s staff was gathered. Felicitations endured for several moments; then an inspired hush dominated all. The flap of the tent was drawn aside, and a small, gray-haired man of stars emerged stiffly. His eyes were bent toward the turf and thus he stood motionless beneath the lanterns for several seconds.
“General Kuroki,” spoke Inuki in a low voice.
The general raised his eyes for just an instant—great, tired, burning, black eyes with heavy rolled lids—bowed slightly, then backed into the tent.
“Now, there’s a man with no carnal lust in him,” Feeney commented to his companion. “He has commanded his wife and family not to write him from Japan, lest their letters distract attention from his work at hand.”
“And he drowned a thousand men crossing the Yalu,” remarked Finacune.
Bingley passed them with the remark, “I wonder if God has the dignity of Kuroki?”