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The man beneath him began to struggle. In fact the fellow staggered to his feet, the boy being too light to hold him down. Phil grabbed him about the waist, pinioning the man's arms to his sides. Then began a desperate struggle, during which the combatants fell to the ground, rolling over and over in their fierce battle. "It's Phil Forrest!" shouted the owner.
Mrs. Tower laughed lightly. "One o'clock," she said. "Don't be late! Come along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way." Mr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself face to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and watching for this very opportunity. She barred his further progress even caught his arm.
Car managers had again been changed on the yellow car; another car had been sent in ahead of Phil, but to no better purpose than before. Car Three moved on, making one brilliant dash after another, sometimes winning out by the narrowest margin and apparently by pure luck. Still, Phil Forrest and his loyal crew were never caught napping and were never headed off for more than a day at a time.
Teddy slipped out from under the rope, his face ashen gray. But Phil stood his ground. He felt that he must do something. Then his opportunity came. The beast's great silken tail popped out through the bars against which he was backing. Phil Forrest, without an instant's thought of the danger into which he was placing himself, sprang forward.
Then the thoughts of Pocahontas found themselves at Jamestown, whither they now often wandered. She smiled as she remembered her own amazement at the sight of the two Englishwomen who had lately arrived there: Mistress Forrest and her maid, Anne Burroughs. With what curiosity the white women and the Indian girl had measured each other, their hair, their eyes, their curious garments!
The crossed sabres of the cavalry and the letter and number of the troop and regiment, all brilliantly polished, adorned his forage-cap, and his undress uniform was scrupulously neat and well-fitting. The moment he turned, Miss Forrest recognized him. "Oh, it is Celestine's soldier friend!" she said. "What are you doing here, my man?" asked the doctor, loftily.
There I saw Forrest leaning against the wall of the coach-house, a figure of inexpressible dejection. "Come and lend a hand!" I shouted. The light that flashed into his face, as he realized what I would be at, was extraordinary. He sprang forward at once to my assistance.
Mr Goodwin gazed at her for a moment without recognition. "You've had a nice sleep, Professor," she said, smiling, "and now you are going to have some tea with me." But in spite of his sleep, the Professor's face looked anxious, and he hardly tasted the tea which Delia prepared. As she took his cup, he said wistfully: "Did Dr Hunt write to Mrs Forrest?" Delia nodded.
We were travelling through a region where practically all the older men had served in the Confederate Army, and where the younger men had all their lives long drunk in the endless tales told by their elders, at home, and at the cross-roads taverns, and in the court-house squares, about the cavalry of Forrest and Morgan and the infantry of Jackson and Hood.
Abram Buford might not have had the dash of Morgan, the electric personality of Forrest, but no one could serve in his headquarters company without being well aware of the steadfast determination, the regard for his men, the bulldog courage which made him Forrest's dependable, rock-hard supporter in the most dangerous action. "They said pretty bad. General Chalmers, he took command."
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