A Gentleman from Mississippi Part 7

"Yes, sir; we ran at you. I ought to remember. I got my wound there.

You remember that long lane--" He pulled off his hat and threw it on the floor, indicating it with one hand--"Here was the Second Alabama."

The hat of the old Federal dropped on the floor opposite the hat of the Confederate.

"And here the Eighth Illinois," exclaimed Stoneman.

Langdon excitedly seized a diminutive bellboy pa.s.sing by and planted him alongside his hat.

"Stay there a moment, sonny," he cried. "You are the Fourth Virginia."

The newspaper Stoneman was carrying came down opposite the startled bellboy, who was trying not to appear frightened.

"This is the clump of cedars," he exclaimed.

Both, in their eagerness, were bending down over their improvised battle plan, their heads close together.

"And here a farmhouse beside your cedars," cried Langdon.

"That's where the rebels charged us," echoed the Union man.

Langdon brought down his fist again with emphatic gesture.

"You bet we charged you! The Third Mississippi charged you! I charged you, sir!"

Stoneman nodded.

"I remember a young fool of a Johnnie reb dashing up the hill fifty yards ahead of his men, waving his sword and yelling like a wild Indian."

The Southerner straightened up.

"Well, where in thunderation would you expect me to be, sir?" he exclaimed. "Behind them? I got my wound there. Laid me up for three months; like to have killed me."

Then a new idea struck him. "Why, Colonel, it must have been a bullet from one of your men--from your regiment, sir!"

The old Northerner pushed his fingers through his hair and shook his head apologetically.

"Why, Senator, I'm afraid it was," he hesitated.

Langdon's eyes were big with the afterglow of a fighter discussing the mighty struggles of the past, those most precious of all the jewels in the treasure store of a soldier's memory.

"Why, it might have been a bullet fired by you, sir," he cried. "It might be that you were the man who almost killed me. Why, confound you, sir, I'm glad to meet you!"

Each old veteran of tragic days gone by had quite unconsciously awakened a responsive chord in the heart of the other. A Senator and a penniless old "down and outer" are very much the same in the human scale that takes note of the inside and not the outside of a man.

And they fell into each other's arms then and there, for what strong fighter does not respect another of his kind?

There they stood, arms around each other, clapping each other on the back, actually chortling in the pure ecstasy of comradeship, now serious, again laughing, when on the scene appeared Bud Haines, the correspondent, who had returned to interview the new Senator from Mississippi.

"Great heavens!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the newspaper man. "A Senator, a United States Senator, hugging a broken-down old 'has-been!' What is the world coming to?" Haines suddenly paused. "I wonder if it can be a pose;--merely for effect. It's getting harder every day to tell what's genuine and what isn't in this town."

CHAPTER VII

LANGDON LEARNS OF THINGS UNPLEASANT

Haines quickly walked over and touched the Southerner on the arm.

"Well, my boy, what can I do for you?" asked the new Senator, turning with a pleasant smile.

"My name is Haines. Senator Stevens was to speak to you about me. I'm the first of the newspaper correspondents come to interview you."

Langdon's familiar smile broadened.

"Well, you don't look as though you'd bite. Reckon I can stand for it.

Is it very painful?"

"I hope it won't be, Senator," Haines said, feeling instinctively that he was going to like this big, hearty citizen.

"All right, Mr. Haines, just as soon as I've said good-by to my old friend, Colonel Stoneman, I'll be with you."

And to his continued amazement Haines saw the Senator walk away with the old Union Colonel, slap him on the back, cheer him up and finally bid him good-by after extending a cordial invitation to come around to dinner, meet his daughters and talk over old times.

The antiquated Federal soldier marched away more erect, more brisk, than in years, completely restored to favor in the eyes of the hotel people. Langdon turned to the reporter.

"All right, Mr. Haines; my hands are up. Do your worst. Senator Stevens spoke to me about you; said you were the smartest young newspaper man in Washington. You must come from the South."

Bud shook his head.

"No, just New York," he said.

"Well, that's a promising town," drawled the Southerner. "They tell me that's the Vicksburg of the North."

"I suppose you haven't been to New York of late, Senator?" suggested the newspaper man.

"Well, I started up there with General Lee once," responded Langdon reminiscently, "but we changed our minds and came back. You may have heard about that trip."

Haines admitted that he had.

"Since that time," went on Langdon, "I've confined my travels to New Orleans and Vicksburg. Ever been in New Orleans about Mardi Gras time, Mr. Haines?"

"Sorry, but I don't believe I have," confessed the reporter reluctantly.

The Senator seemed surprised.

"Well, sir, you have something to live for. I'll make it my special business to personally conduct you through one Mardi Gras, with a special understanding, of course, that you don't print anything in the paper. I'm a vestryman in my church, but since misfortune has come upon our State I have to be careful."