(iHN’L OFFICIAL DIRECTORY
STATU.
G o vernor.Silas Holoomb
Lieutenant Governor.• ?• •JJal7'*8
Secretary of State.. • Wm. * - Porter
State Treasurer.John B. Moserve
8tate Auditor.John k. Cornell
Attorney General..L. J. Smythe
Com. Lands and Buildings.V. Wolfe
Sunt. Publio Instruction.W. R. Jackson
REGENTS STATE UNIVERSITY.
Chas. H. Gere. Lincoln; Leavitt Burnham,
Omaha; J M. Hiatt, Alma; E. P. Holmes,
Pierce; J. T. Mallaieu, Kearney; M. J. Hull,
Edgar.
Representatives First Distriot.J. B. Strode
Second, H. D. Mercer, Third. S. Maxwell,
Fourth. W. L. Stark, Fifth, R. A). Sutherland,
Sixth, W. L. Green.
CONGRESSIONAL.
Senators—W. V. Allen, of Madison; John
M. Thurston, of Omaha.
JUDICIARY.
Chief Justice.•.•■•A.M. Post
Associates...T.O. Harrison and T. L.Norvall
FIFTEENTH JUDICIAL DISTRICT.
judae .M. P. Klnkaid, ot O’NelU
RSortir...... .... ....7... J. J. King of O'Neill
Judge.W. H. Westover, of Rushville
Reporter ..• 'hn Maher, of Rushville.
LAND OFFICES.
O'NIIUi.
..John A. Harmon.
Register..
Receiver....
.Elmer Williams.
COUNTY.
Jud„e .GeoMcCutcheon
Clerk of the DUtrlct Court .. .John Sklrving
|tainiit,v . .. .'U. Dli UOlllUB
Treasurer.....I. P. Mullen
^ierlc. .Mike McCarthy
Sheriff..Chas Hamilton
Beauty.Chas O'Neill
Supt. of Sobools..W. R. Jackson
Assistant.Mrs. W. R. Jackson
coroner:. Dr. Trueblood
Surveyor.-M- Norton
Attorney... ““tier
SUPERVISORS.
FIRST DISTRICT.
Cleveland, Sand Creek, Dustin, Saratoga,
Rock Falls and Pleasantview :J. A. Robertson
SECOND DISTRICT.
Shields, Paddock, Scott, Steel Creek, Wil
owdale and Iowa—J. H. Hopkins.
THIRD DISTRICT.
Grattan aud O’Neill—Mosses Campbell.
FOURTH DISTRICT.
Ewing, Verdigris and Delolt—L. C. Combs
rirrn district. .
Chambers, Conley, take, ItoOlure and
Inman—8. L. Conger.
• SIXTH DISTRICT.
Swan. Wyoming, Fairvlew, Francis. Green
„ Valley, Sheridan and Emmet—0. W. Moss.
SEVENTH DISTRICT.
Atkinson and Stuart— W. N. Coats.
C11T OF Or NEILL.
Supervisor. E. J. Maok; Justloes, K. H.
Benedict and 8. M. Wagers; Constables, Ed.
MoBride and Perkins Brooks.
OOUNCUJIBli—1IRBT WARD.
For two years.—D. H. Cronin. For one
year—C. W. Hagenslck.
SECOND WARD. ’
For two years—Alexander Marlow. For
one year—W. T. Evans.
THIRD WARD.
For two years—Charles Davis. For one
year—E. J. Mack.
cur orriCBRS.
Mayor, H. E. Murphy; Clerk, N- Martin;
Treasurer, John McHugh; City Engineer
John Horrlsky; Police Judge, H. Kautzman;
Chief of Police, P. J. Blgltn; Attorney,
Thos. Carlon; Welghmaster. D. Stannard.
OR AT TAN TOWNSHIP.
Supervisor, R. J. Hayes; Trearurer. Barney
McGreevy; Clerk, J. Sullivan; Assessor Ben
Johring; Justices, M. Castello and Chas.
Wilcox; Constables, John Horrisky and Ed.
McBride; Road overseer dlst. SB, Allen Brown
ulst. Mo. 1,John Enright.
SOLDIERS’ RELIEF C0MNI88I0N.
Regular meeting first Monday in Febru
ary of each year, and at suoh other times as
is deemed necessary, llobt. Gallagher, Page,
chairman; Wm. liowen, O'Neill, secretary;
U. H. Clark Atkinson.
UT-PATRICK’S cathodic church.
O Services every Sabbath at 10:30 o'clock.
Verv Rev. Cassidy, Fostor. Sabbath sohool
immediately following services.
Methodist church. Sunday
services—Preaching 10:30 A. m. and 3:00
p. M. Class No. 1 0:30 A. M. Class No. 2 (Ep
worth League) 7:00 P. M. Class No. 3 (Child
rens) 3:00 p. M. Mind-week services—General
prayer meeting Thursday 7:30 p. m. All will
be made welcome, especially strangers.
E. T. GEORGE. Pastor.
Cl A. R. POST, NO. 86. The Gen. John
IT* O'Neill Post, No. 88, Department of Ne
braska G. A. R.( will meet the first and third
Saturday evening of each month in Masonic
hall O’Neil) S. J. Smith, Com.
UDEHORN VADDEY DODGE, I. O. O.
Jui F, Meets every Wednesday evening in
Odd Fellows’ hall, visiting brothers oordially
Invited to attend.
W. H. Mason, N. G. O. D. Bright, Sec.
Garfield chapter, r. a. m
Meets on Brat and third Thursday of eaeh
month in Masonic hall.
W. J. Dobbs See. J. C. Harnish, H, F
Kof p.—helmet lodge, u. d.
, Convention every Monday at 8 o clock p.
m. in Odd Fellows' nail. Visiting brethern
cordially Invited.
J. P. Gillioan, C. 0.
E. J. Mack. K. of B. and 8.
O’NEILL ENCAMPMENT NO. 30.1.
O. O. F. meets every second and fourth
Fridays of each month in Odd Fellows’ Hall.
Chas. Bright, H. P. H. M. Tttley, Scribe
1J1DBN LODGE NO. 41, DAUGHTERS
j OF RBBBKAH, meets every 1st and 8d
Friday of each month in Odd Fellows’ Hall.
Augusta Martin N. G. Maria Meals. Sec.
Garfield lodge, no.»6,f.aa.m.
Regular communications Thursday nights
on or before the full of the moon.
J. J. Kino, W. M.
O. O. Snyder, Sec.
HOLTRIAMP NO. 1710, M. W. OF A.
Meets on the first and third Tuesday in
each month in the Masonic hall.
Nkil Brennan, V. C. D. R. Cronin, Clerk
AO, U. W. "NO. 158, Meets seoond
• and fourth Tudsday of each month In
Masonlo hall.
O. Bright, Hec. S. B. Howard, M. W.
INDEPENDENT WORKMEN OF
JL AMERICA. meet every first and third
Friday of each month.
_ _ _ Geo. McCutchan, N. M.
J. H, Wklton, Sec.
PQ8TOFFICB DIRCBTORY
Arrival of Malls
r, S. A U. V. R. H.—FROM THE BAST.
Every day, Sunday included at.9:40 pm
FROM THE WEST
very day, Sunday Included at.10:04 am
PACIFIC SnOBT LINE.
Passenger-leaves 10:0iA. M. Arrives 11:65 p u
Freight—leaves l);07 P. M. Arrives 7:00 p. m.
Dally except Sunday.
O'NEILL AND CHELSEA.
Departs Monday, Wed. and Friday at 7:00 am
K Arrives Tuesday, Thurs. and Sat. at.. 1:00 pm
O'NEILL AND PADDOCK.
Departs Monday. Wed. and Friday at. ,7:00am
Arrives Tuesday, Thurs. and Sat. at. .4:30 p m
_ O'NEILL AND NIOBRARA.
Departs Monday. Wed. and Fri.at....7:00 a m
Arrives Tuesday, Thurs. and Sat. at. ..4:00 p m
O'NEILL AND CUMMINBVILLE,
Arrive* Mon.,Wed. and Fridays a .. J1:30pm
Departs Mon., Wed. and Friday at.:00pm
ckmm'cmmM
[Copyright, 1894, by J. B. Lippincott Company.]
1.
The conductor had eyed Lambert cu
riously os he punched his ticket. He
held it for a moment and edged his lan
tern around so that its feeble light
could reinforce the glimmer from the
bleared and smoky globe above Lam
bert’s curly head. The train had started
lrom the junction with that quick series
of back-wrenching jerks which all vet
eran travelers remember ns character
istic of American railways, before the
introduction, of “coupler buffers.” It
was a shabby, old-fashioned train—one
whose cars had “seen service,” and not
a little of it, during the long and event
ful war so recently closed. It had a,
baggage car behind the wheezy old
wood-burner that drew the rickety pro
cession out into the dim, starlit aisle
through fhe eastward forest, and, for
the first time in a week, that baggage
car contained a trunk. It had a "smok
er,” in which three or four negroes were
soundly sleeping on the worn cushions
at the forward end, and three or four
lank, shabbily-dressed whites were con
suming tobacco and killing time under
the single lamp at the other. It had a
“ladies’ car”—so called—in which no
ladies were visible, and which differed
in appointments from the smoker only
in the facts that its seats were uphol
stered in dingy red plush instead of
blackened canvas, and that both its
lamps could be induced to burn, how
ever feebly, instead of only one. It was
a forlorn, hangdog, shame-faced sort
of train, that seemed oppressed with a
sense of its own disrepute—a train that
kept in hiding during the broad light
oi uay arui vein urea 10 smut lonn only
after nightfall, like some impoverished
debtor, not loving the darkness better
than light because of evil deeds, but
hating it a« it hated its own shabbiness,
and accepting it as only one plane above
total decrepitude, the junk shop and the
poorhouse. Starting at dusk from a
populous station on a north and south
‘ trunk” line, it turned and twisted
through red clay cuttings, jolted over
mud-covered ties and moss-grown tres
tles, whistling shrill to wake the watch
ers at ’crcss-country stations on the
way, and finally, after midnight, rested
an hour at a prominent point, a “state
center,” where, sometimes at one
o'clock but generally long after, the
night express came glaring up from the
south along the glistening rails of an
other “great northern” route, and three
nights in the week, perhaps, gave it- a
“leepy passenger or two to trundle away,
westward towards the big river town it
managed to reach by sunrise, once
more to slink out of sight until dark,
when again it crept forth and stole
away on the return trip over its clank
ing road, unresentful of comment on its
loneliness and poverty, and proud, if
nnything, of the fact that this way, at
least, it ran “right end foremost,” acr
cording to the American idea, with the
baggage instead of the ladies’ car next
the struggling engine.
It was a clear, starlit night, sharply
cold, and the planks of the platform at
the junction had snapped apd creaked
under their glistening white coat of
frosty rime. The up train came in even
later than usual—so much so that the
stationmnster had more than once
asked his friend the conductor of the
waiting “Owl” whether he really
thought he could “make it” over to Quit
man in time for the down express at
dawn. “You’d better puil out the min
ute she gits hyuh,” was his final in
junction when at last her whistle was
heard.
A lithe, active young fellow in a trim
suit of tweed had sprung from the
sleeper before the incoming train had
fairly stopped, and, hailing the first
ninn he saw, asked: “Train for Tugo
loo gone yet?” which so astonished the
party addressed that he simply stared
ior a minute without reply. A voice in
ihe wilderness, apparently, was heard
above the hissing of steam and the loud
mouthings of the negro porters of the
tw’o rival hotels, “All aboard for Quit
man,” it said, and, abandoning his ap
parent purpose of repeating the ques
tion in sharper tone, the young fellow
turned end ran nimbly across the dim
ly-lighted platform in the direction of
the hail.
“Quitman train?—Tugaioo?” he asked
of a dark form standing above the tail
light of the car.
“Quitman it is. Anybody else thar?”
And the interrogative went off in a
shout. -Vo answer.
"Aw, Hank! Anybody else?” Still
no answer. Two or three dim figures
were by this time clustered around the
flaring torch of a coffee stand at the
edge of the platform. The conductor
got off and walked impatiently towards
them.
“Any you gentlemen for Quitman?”
he asked.
“Quitman? Hell, no! What’s any
man want to gothar for night like this?
Pull out with your old sneezer, Jimmy,
’nless you’ll stop and take a cup
coffee.”
“Oh, that you, cap? Ain’t you got
anybody for us? Thought the judge
was cornin’ up to-night.”
“Warn’t on my car,” said the brake
man of the express, possessively.
“Young feller ’n the sleeper all I know
of.”
“Got him,” answered the conductor,
as briefly as possible for a man long
attuned to the southern drawl and
whose “got” was more like “gawt.”
“Reckon we might as well git, then,” he
continued, returning to the colloquial
present indicative of a verb of manifold
meaning and usefulness. “Tell Hank,
will you?—Let ’er go, Jack,” be shouted
to the engineer, with a wave of his lan
tern. A yelp from the whistle was the
answer; the fireman crawled out from
a warm corner in the baggage car and
shambled drowsily forward to the cab.
Sudden jets of steam flew hissing out
on the frosty air. One after another the
three cars lunged sharply forward and
then slowly rolled forth into the night.
The conductor clambered up the rear
steps with parting wave of his lantern,
slammed the door after him and came
up the narrow aisle to look at his pas
senger. Before he had time to speak,
however, his attention was attracted by
a succession of yells from the track
to their rear. Giving an angry yank
at the bell rope he whirled about and
hurried to the door. The train came
willingly to a sudden stand, nnd Lam
bert. stowing his hand luggage on the
empty seat before him, heard the fol
lowing lively colloquy, as did everybody
else who happened to he awake and
within a radius of 200 yards:
“AVhat d’you want?”
“Come back hyuh, I say."
“What d’you wa-a-nt? I ain’t goin*
to back in fhar now.” *
“Huyh’s a trunk.”
“Wha-at?”
“A tru-u-nk.”
“Why in hell didn’t you sling1 it abawd
flhst off?” sung out the conductor, dis
gusfredly. “Ain’t you felluhs got any
brains? Back up, Jack!” he shouted
forvvard, signaling with his lantern
again. “Somebody’s left a bnnd-bawx,
by criminy!” And so, growling volubly,
the custodian of the “Owl” swung him
self out from the steps, hanging by the
left hand to the iron railing and hold
ing extended his green and white lan
tern with the other. A couple of stal
wart negroes came panting forwnrd to
meet them, the offending trunk on their
shoulders,’and went stumbling up the
sloping embankment towards the slow
ly-backing baggage car. The light from
the lantern fell on the new canvas cover
and on the fresh brown finisfh of the
straps and handles, then on the inscrip
tion in bold black letters at the end:
I. N. IjAMHKRT,
U. S. Army.
At sight of which the conductor
checked the half jocular, half resentful
tirade he was composing for the bene
fit of the stationmaster and abruptly
asked:
“Whuh’s it goin’?”
“Tugaloo, suh,” said the rearmost
negro.
“Well, hump it abawd, ’n’ be quick
about it." Then, raising his voice, he
shouted across the platform: “Shuah
you ain’t gawt a feedin’-bavvtle or a cake
o’ soap or s’m’ other truck to fetch me
back again, Hank? Dawg gawn ’f I
leckon we ever will get to Quitman
’t this rate!”
The darkies about the coffee-stand
gave a guffaw of sympathetic rejoicing
over the official's humor. The conductor
was evidenty more popuar than the
station master. One of the trunk bear
ers came lunging in at the front door of
the car, and, humble yet confident, ap
pealed to Lambert:
uuue someinin, sun, fur totin’ de
trunk. Bin los’, mos’ like, ’f it had n’
bin f’r us. Thanky, suh. Thanky.”
And the negro’s eyes danced, tor the
douceur handed him by the youag owner
of the vagrant baggage exceeded his
hopes. He strove, indeed, to thrn and
renew his thanks at the rear door, but
was collared and hustled unceremoni
ously off the car.
“You ain’t goin’ to get off at Tugaloo
this time o’ night?” asked the conduc
tor, finally, and with that odd em
phasis expressive of doubt as to a pas
senger’s knowledge of his own inten
tions so often heard in our thinly-settled
districts. Lambert interpreted it to
niean “Anybody else, perhaps, but. not
you.” He was already cogitating as to
whether or not the conductor had in
tended some covert sneer in his recent
reference to “feeding-bottles,” for Lam
ert was but one-and-twenty, and youth
ful-looking for his years. The tone
of this inquiry and the look which ac
companied it after deliberate pause and
study of the proffered ticket, however,
were far from aggressive or discour
teous, yet the unintentional misplacing
of the emphasis, following an allusion
equally hapless and alike unintentional,
had given umbrage to the boy. “You
must expect to hear no end of unpleas
ant things,” he had been told at depart
ment headquarters, where he had re
ceived orders to go on and join his com
pany, then in camp at Tugaloo. “Every
body is mighty sore yet over the late un
pleasantness. Hold your tongue and
keep your temper,” wore the parting in
junctions; and he meant to do both.
All the same he did not intend to allow
people to treat him with discourtesy—
certainly; not a conductor of a publia
railway. Lambert was on hia dignity
in a moment. He looked the railway
man straight in the eye and replied,
with all the calm and deliberation he
could master: “My ticket would seem
to indicate that such was my intention,”
and almost immediately regretted it,
for the conductor looked up in sudden
surprise, stood one inste.nt irresolute,
then saying: “Oh"! All right,” turned
abruptly away, walked up beyond the
stove, and roughly shRking the elbow of
asnoring passenger, sung out: “Coates
ville,” and let himself out with an em
phatic bang of the door.
Two days later, when asked at Quit
man whut sort of a fellow the new lieu
tenant seemed to be, Mr. Scroggs, the
conductor, himself a soldier of large ex
perience nnd no little ability—a man
who had fought his way from the ranks
to the command of the remnnntof a reg
iment that, laid down its battered nrms
among the very last, a man not five years
Lambert’s senior in age, but lustrums
ahead of him in the practical details of
his profession—Mr. Scroggs, the con
ductor, promptly said: “He’s a dam lit
tle fool,” and never dreamed how much
he should one day deplore it.
“Newt” Lambert, as he was known
among his intimates, was far from be
ing a fool. He had seen very little of
the world, it is true, and, until this De
cember night, next to nothing of the
sunny south, where at this particular
period in our national history it was not
every man who could so conduct himself
as not to fall into error. More especial
ly in the military service was an old
head needed on young shoulders, and
a strong head between new shoulder
straps, for army life so soon after the
greatwarwasbesetby snares and temp
tations it rarely hears of now, and many
a fellow, brave nnd brainy both, in
the days that tried men’s souls ’twixt
Dig Bethel and Appomattox, or Bel
mont and Bentonville, went down in the
unequal tussle with foe far more in
sidious than faced him in the field, but
which met him day and night now that
peace had come. It was at a time when
the classes graduating from the mili
tary academy were being assigned main
ly to the staff corps and to'the artillery
and cavalry regiments. Lambert fan
cied that he should prefer the associa
tions and much prefer the stations of
the artillery to those of any other corps,
but an old friend of his father’s, himself
a veteran gunner, advised the young
fellow to seek his fortune elsewhere.
“If you are commissioned a lieutenant I
of artillery,” said he, “it may be 20 years
before you see your oaptnincy.” And,
though this was within three years
nfter the reorganization of the army
in ’66, not one of Lambert's contem
poraries who trusted to luck and ap
plied for the artillery had yet come
within hopeful range of the double bars.
Lambert amazed them all when he
asked for the infantry arm and took
his commission thankfully.
He had been detailed for summer
duty at the Point, as was then a custom,
so that his leave of absence of three
months did not begin until the 28th of
August. He had been assigned to a
regiment whose ranks were sadly de
pleted by the yellow fever, and which
was still serving in the south. “You
won’t have to hoof it out to Idaho or
Montana, anyhow',” said a sympathetic
friend, “and you’ll have no end of fun
at New Orleans.”
But Lambert’s company was not at
New Orleans. Under recent orders it
had been sent up into the heart of the
country, where some turbulent spirits,
so it was alleged, had been defying the
civil officers of the general government,
and by the time the short southern win
ter set in more than half his regiment,
together with three or four others, had
been distributed by companies or de
tachments all over the gulf states, and
experienced officers were scarce as hens'
teeth. The duty was unwelcome and
galling. Lambert’s captain lost no time
in getting on staff duty, and G Com
pany went into camp at Tugaloo under
command of its first lieutenant. Ar
riving at New Orleans, Lambert report
ed himself at the headquarters of the
general commanding, who knew the
boy’s father, welcomed the son for old
friendship’s sake, and told his chief of
staff to keep him there a week or so,
that he might see something of the
southern metropolis and of his friends
down at the barracks before going to
his exile “up the road.” Dining the
very next evening at Capt. Cram’s, with
Waring and Pierce, of the light battery,
and perhaps rather ruefully agreeing
with them that he had “made a beastly
fluke of it, going into the doughboys,”
Lambert was asked: “Who’s in com
mand of your company now?”
"Our first lieutenant," said he. "I
don't know much about him—Brevet
Capt. Close.”
Whereupon Waring laid down his
knife and fork. “Angels and ministers
of grace!” he exclaimed. “Well, if
that isn’t the oddest contre-temps I
ever heard of!” And then they all be
gan to laugh.
“You evidently know him,” said Lam
beVt, somewhat nettled and a trifle ill
at ease. “Why did you ask me about
him? Somebody told me he had been
commissioned for heroism — special
bravery in action, or something of that
kind—during the war.”
“Gospel truth,” said Pierce. "Close
is the most absolutely fearless man I
ever met. Nothing even Waring could
ever do or say would ruffle him.” And
then, though Mrs. Cram declared it a
shame, she, too, joined in the general
laughter. Close was evidently a celeb
rity.
And now, as Lambert found himself
within a few miles—though it might be
several hours—of his destination, he
was thinking not a little of the officer
to whose presence he was so soon to re
port his own, and whose companionship
and influence, for good or for ill, he was
bound to accept for the simple reason
that, so far as lie could learn, there was
absolutely no one else with whom he
could associate;—except, possibly, the
“contract doctor.”
Quitting New Orleans after a long
day’s sight-seeing with his friends, he
pi'iZksllllBUtl
*T/\ HBKOOnitH
*¥7 VN SEE?
Ton will And on* oonpon
Inside uch two own tag,
and two eoopons Inside mcH
4bn> onneo lisf of Block*
well’s Car ham. Bujr a big
of thla celebrated tobacco *
and road the oonpon—wblck
gl»« a Hit of trainable pres
•ntc and how to get them.
had sought a berth in the Pullman and
Slept soundly until aroused by the porter
after two o'clock to change cars at the
junction. Now he was wide awoke,
and, after the first few miles of jolting
and grinding through the darknesB, was
becoming chilled and lonesome—per
haps a trifle homesick. Twice had the
conductor bustled through the train,
rousing sleeping passengers and see
ing them safely off at dark and mys
terious stations where hardly agllmmer
of lamp or candle could be seen away
from the mere shanty which served
as a waiting-room and office. A heap
of wood was stacked up near the stove,
and Lambert poked the waning em
bers and piled on fresh fuel, whereat
a young man who had got on at Coates
ville with a shotgun and a big bottle
for luggage, and who had for nearly an
hour been singing sentimental snatches
to his own deep satisfaction, now smiled
maudlin approval and companionably
held forth the bottle. “ ’S good,” said
he, in loyal defense of the stimulant
most courteously declined. “Bes* thing
you can take these co' mawning’s. Live
’bout hyuh an’where?”
“No,” said Lambert, civilly, yet hop
ing not to be further questioned. He
busied himself again with the fire, then,
rising quickly, sought his seat.
But the young man with the flask
was gregarious and bubbling over with
the milk of human kindness. He
promptly lurched after, and, flopping
dowm on the opposite seat, sending
some of Lambert’s belongings clatter
ing to the floor, held out his hand.
“ ’Scuse me, suh,” he stuttered. “I
hope I ain’t ’fended you. My name’s
Potts—Barton Potts. We ain’t what
we were befo’ the wah, you know. But
I know a gen’l’m’n—every time. Hope
—I ain’—’suited—”
“Not by any means!” protested Lam
bert, loudly and heartily. “Don’t think
of such a thing! I simply didn't feel
like drinking; but I’m a thousand
times obliged to you.”
“Tha’z right. Tha’z all right,” said
Mr. Potts, grasping Lambert’s hand
und shaking it impressively. “I—hello!
Wha’z that?”
Lambert’s sword, encased in chamois
skin, hnd come in contact with the
stranger’s elbow and gone rattling
under the seat. Potts made a precipi
tate dive and fished it out, regaining his
equilibrium after some little struggle.
“Goin’ to Quitman—too? Tha’z my
home. An’ I’m glad—meet you. I
i.
uu
"Tou ain’t ■ota' to cat off at Suaoloo tbla ttano
o' iliMf"
know a gen’l’m’n—an’ I’ll stan’ your
frien’—I mean it. Missur—Missur—*’
“My name’s Lambert,” said the lieu
tenant, quietly essaying to relieve Mr.
Potts of the sword.
“Lammert? Glad—meet you—Missur
Lainmert. Where’d you say you
b’longed?”
"I’m going to Tugaloo.”
“Tu-gloo?—Tha’z no kin’ of place.
C’mawn to Quimman. Come to my
house. What ’n ’ell’s thiz?” he broke
ofT suddenly.
“My sword,” said Lambert, simply.
“Sword?—sword?” exclaimed Potts.
“You goin’ Tu-gloo with sword? You
—Yankee oft’cer like that—wha'z name?
—Close?”
“A Yankee officer certainly,” laughed
Lambert. “I’ve never met Capt. Close."
The effect of this announcement on
Mr. Potts was surprising. It well-nigh
sobered him. He slowly drew back un
til he sat erect, his head wobbling a bit
in spite of his efforts nt self-control.
Presently he began to speak, slowly and
impressively nt first, then winding up in
a verbal entanglement:
“Missur Lam-p-bert, I didn’t know 1
was talkin’ to—Yankee officer—but—
I’m a gen’l’m’n, suh, an’ I stan’ by
wh-wha—I say. 1 mean to stan’ your
frien’, suh; but as fo’ that oth—fellun
—Close—I’ll see’m in ’ell first-”
(To be continued.)
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