“Pooh!” said the Captain, squeezing her hand and trying to appear unconcerned. “Your Uncle Daniel knows Mr. Lincoln. He'll have that arranged.”
Just then the rattletrap pulled up at the sidewalk, the wheels of the near side in four inches of mud, and the Captain leaped out and spread the umbrella. They were in front of a rather imposing house of brick, flanked on one side by a house just like it, and on the other by a series of dreary vacant lots where the rain had collected in pools. They climbed the steps and rang the bell. In due time the door was opened by a smiling yellow butler in black.
“Does General Carvel live here?”
“Yas, miss, But he ain't to home now. Done gone to New York.”
“Oh,” faltered Virginia. “Didn't he get my telegram day before yesterday? I sent it to the War Department.”
“He's done gone since Saturday, miss.” And then, evidently impressed by the young lady's looks, he added hospitably, “Kin I do anything fo' you, miss?”
“I'm his niece, Miss Virginia Carvel, and this is Captain Brent.”
The yellow butler's face lighted up.
“Come right in, Miss Jinny, Done heerd de General speak of you often—yas'm. De General'll be to home dis a'ternoon, suah. 'Twill do him good ter see you, Miss Jinny. He's been mighty lonesome. Walk right in, Cap'n, and make yo'selves at home. Lizbeth—Lizbeth!”
A yellow maid came running down the stairs. “Heah's Miss Jinny.”