“Is that so?” said Vance.
“Yes; the hul kit and bilin’ of ‘em are here,” replied Ballard. “There’s Colonel Alexander, Homer Winthrop, General Ira House and his brother, Jack House, B. Webster Legal and Marcus Donald. Donald is the resident director of the Town Company.” Vance said he would be glad to meet them.
“Well, you’ll see the keenest lot of men,” said Ballard, “this here country has ever pulled together. Every one of ‘em is a strong man and a hustler from the word go. What I say about ‘em you’ll find is prima facie.” After a little, Dick Ballard winked one eye at Vance and said: “I feel a bottle in my pocket, and I wouldn’t wonder a mite there was suthin’ in it that wouldn’t taste bad. A little spirits is mighty good for a feller when he has had a hard day’s ride.”
Vance assured him that he was much obliged, but was thoroughly refreshed by his night’s rest, and a light breakfast was all he wanted.
“We usually,” replied Ballard, “accommodate fellows that want that kind of a breakfast; in fact, some of our breakfasts are too darned light. I’ll go down and see what I can skirmish up for you.”
At the door Dick Ballard turned and said, “Oh, yes, have you heard the news?”
“No, I do not remember of having heard anything of a startling character,” replied Vance.
“Well, by Ned, I supposed you had heard all about it,” said Ballard, as he leaned against the door and looked wise.
“Well, what is it?” queried Vance.
“Well, sir, our militia company has got a new snare drum, and, gosh all fish hooks! but she is a rat-tat-tat-to-or from away back!” The door closed and Old Dick Ballard retreated, merrily whistling “Away down in Dixie.”