Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 149: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PLAYING THE MAN. “Why, the fire’s out, they tell me,” was the astonishing answer; “ but ’tis told there’s woful little o’ the town left standing.” . “ News, indeed!” spluttered David, affecting a looseness of speech. ‘I’m from Westchester, an’ I’ve heard of no fire.” “Save us!” exclaimed the rustic. ‘““Then ye don’t know that the city took fire on Saturday, an’ burnt Trinity meet- ing-house, and a thousand houses round- about?” David concealed his dismay with diffi- culty. “‘ Ye’re the first to give me such news, - brother,” he replied. ‘ Well, well, I might fare ill there with my- pack, then. Haply I’d do better to pay a visit to the rebel camp. Do ye know aught of mat- ters thereabouts?” “Me an’ my lad drove a wagon of cabbage there but this morning,” an- swered the rustic, ‘“ but we been ill paid. The orf’cers were in bad humor, for some great prisoner had beat the hang- man by fleeing away in the night, an’ ’twas a sore matter with ’em.” ‘““ Now, now!” exclaimed the listener. ‘“‘ How came that about, think ye?” “Why, ’twas a right strange mystery,” was the willing answer. ‘‘ They do say there’s somewhat much amiss in the camp. A sergeant, tall as a sentry-box, sent the prisoner’s guard running off with a message an’ took the watch ’imself. The guard came back betimes, but the prisoner was flown, an’ so likewise was the tall sergeant. Then, sir, twas learnt that no such tall sergeant of the guard’s description was known to the army, an’ the message that was carried by the guard proved no message at all. "Twas a sorry hoax, an’ the orf’cers are biting their nails an’ cursing the underlings for knaves an’ fools.” David laughed boisterously at the re- cital, but finished his meal presently and. took to the road again. As he trudged along the dark and dusty way, his brain was in a whirl, 491 Some one had saved his life! Who was the tall sergeant, and by whom was ‘he sent? And again: who was the slen- der, statuesque sentinel at the gate, who kept his head averted. while the fugitive made good his escape? He pictured again that slim watchman, who must have heard the rustle of his footsteps unless he were deaf, and must have seen the darting shadow but for a sudden blindness. And as he puzzled, another picture shaped itself in his mind. He gasped at a sudden thought. Could two men be formed as nearly alike as that slim sentinel and Captain Alexander Hamilton? All at once, he stopped short and clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Great Jove!” he cried aloud. “‘ Could such a thing be? The sergeant was as tall as—as I am! Was his red face real? Did that mustache grow naturally from the lip? And—was—he—asleep? ‘‘ By the high gods,” he cried in fresh amazement, “ that tall sergeant was no other living man than—”’ His teeth came together with a snap. ‘“He was—the man who saved my poor life,” he finished humbly, “‘ and my true friend forever!” For another minute he stood still in the dark road, then he strode on with a heart throbbing with gladness and deep emotion. The dusty miles rolled away beneath his feet he came to the Boston road and swung into it with joy, and be- fore he realized the distance he had cov- ered, the great house of Incleberg loomed before him. It was late, but that house was his des- tination. He stepped upon the porch and tapped softly at the door. A man ser- vant opened it fearfully, peered out, then ordered him savagely away. A happy inspiration suggested to Da- vid the old nickname that Mrs. Murray had applied to him. ‘Go tell your mistress, Mrs. Murray,” he said, ‘‘ that a pedler named Petruchio would have speech with her.”’ The servant closed the door, and MICLOOOK C©