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Ah, that muz' bring some splandid news, that lett'r of Irbee, what you riscieve to-day and think I don't know it. 'T is maybe ab-out Kincaid's Batt'rie, eh?" At Flora's touch the speaker flinched back from the roof's edge, the maiden aiding the recoil. "Don't stand so near, like that," she said. "It temp' me to shove you over." They looked once more to the fleet. Slowly it came on.
Off here on the left she heard Mandeville announcing: "Now they'll form batt'rie to the front by throwing caisson' to the rear look look!... Ah, ha! was not that a prettie?" Pretty it was declared to be on all sides. Flora called it "a beautiful." Part of her charm was a Creole accent much too dainty for print.
Was that Kincaid, the crowd asked, one of another; he of the thick black locks, tired cheek and brow, and eyes that danced now as he smiled and talked? "Phew! me, I shou'n' love to be tall like that, going to be shot at, no! ha, ha! But thad's no wonder they are call' the ladies' man batt'rie!" "Hah! they are not call' so because him, but because themse'v's!
A few steps on she added pensively, "For a soldier to cry and befo' ladies a ladies' man of that batt'rie tha's hardly fair to the ladies, eh, grandmama?" But the boy only pressed his forehead harder down and clutched the aged knees under it till their owner put on, to the scintillant beauty, a look of alarm and warning.
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