“Yes, yes,” said the President, “we must go on. What was your rank, Comrade?”
“Sergeant, General.”
“I hope you have got a good pension for that hip,” said the President, kindly. It may be well to add that he was not always so incautious, but this soldier bore the unmistakable stamp of simplicity and sincerity on his face.
Ephraim hesitated.
“He never would ask for a pension, General,” said Cynthia.
“What!” exclaimed the President in real astonishment, “are you so rich as all that?” and he glanced at the green umbrella.
“Well, General,” said Ephraim, uncomfortably, “I never liked the notion of gittin' paid for it. You see, I was what they call a war-Democrat.”
“Good Lord!” said the President, but more to himself. “What do you do now?”
“I callate to make harness,” answered Ephraim.
“Only he can't make it any more on account of his rheumatism, Mr. President,” Cynthia put in.