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I was in no humour to pursue the conversation, particularly as Jack Smith entered at that moment, composed and solemn as ever, without even a glance at me. My only escape from wretched memories and uncomfortable reflections was in hard work, and that day I worked desperately. I was engaged in checking some very elaborate accounts under Doubleday's direction the whole day.
Jack Smith's expression of amazement and horror as he caught sight of me only intensified my own distress, and Doubleday's stern "Now you're in for it!" sounded hopelessly prophetic. I could do nothing. To wipe my face with my clean hand, with the tail of my jacket, with my shirt-sleeve, could do no good. No; I was in for it and must meet my doom!
I had then with me, in addition to my eight regiments amounting to about 8,000 men and a few cavalry, Doubleday's heavy United States battery of 20 and 30 pounders, and a very good Rhode Island battery. And I was willing to take the risk, whether Gen. Patterson followed me up or not, of placing myself between Johnston and the Shenandoah River, rather than let Johnston escape.
"Oh," said Masham, eyeing me all over, as he lit a cigar, and then held out his cigar-case to me. "What do you smoke, Batchelor?" "I don't smoke, thank you," said I. "Have you given it up, then?" said Hawkesbury. "You used to smoke at Doubleday's parties." "Ah! I thought he looked like a chap that smoked," said Masham, holding out his case again. "Don't be modest, Batchelor.
Like all well-meaning and candid friends, the doctor found himself at once in for a deal of angry abuse, but, as he explained, he had taken so much abuse from patients at various periods of his career and abuse fully justified that nothing Barb could add, deserved or undeserved, to the volume would move him: "As our old governor back in Wisconsin said, Barb, 'I seen my duty and I done it," was the doctor's only retort to Doubleday's wrath.
Men careless on this point were no longer attending celebrations of any sort around Sleepy Cat. From the Falling Wall came the rustlers, every one of them except Doubleday's old foreman, Abe Hawk, who scorned all pretense of compromise. He advised Laramie not to go near the celebration. When Laramie intimated he might go, Abe was greatly incensed.
"The ford is your only chance to get her over." "Can I make it?" "You've got good horses; you ought to make it by daylight." "Hear they got a new foreman over at Doubleday's," Bradley said. There was no comment, unless the silence could be so construed. "Tom Stone," added Bradley, as if bound to finish.
He looked so queer, Kate wanted to laugh, but she was too far from home to dare. He presently put his head conveniently in between Sawdy and Lefever and offered some news of his own: "There's been a big electric storm in the up country, Sawdy; the telephones are on the bum." "How's she going to get to Doubleday's tonight, McAlpin?" asked Sawdy abruptly of the newcomer.
"I don't think, you know," said I, feeling rather extinguished by Doubleday's pitying tone, "it's such a very cheap place. It's three- and-six a week." Doubleday gazed at me in astonishment, and then broke out into a loud laugh. "Three-and-six a week! Why, my dear fellow, you could do it cheaper in a workhouse.
It was still some minutes before the other clerks were due. Hawkesbury used the interval in conversing amiably with me in a whisper. "I'm afraid Doubleday's put out," said he. "You know, he's a very good sort of fellow; but, between you and me, don't you think he's a trifle too unsteady?" What could I say?
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