their lips moving and their ears attent even though their
heads were turned apart,--communing as men commune who do not wish to be
thought in conversation.

"We shall have supper at Grand Island," said the captain, presently,
"and coffee will be sent through the cars for the men. If you will
escort Mrs. Cranston and Miss Loomis, Mr. Davies, my sergeants will look
after the command." And Mr. Davies being subordinate and just out of
four years' training in which no man may hesitate to do just as a
superior may bid, obeyed his instructions, not unwilling, even though
smarting under vague sense of being given to understand he was of no
military use.

Re-entering the car, refreshed after a hearty supper, and seeing his
fair charges to their section, Mr. Davies caught sight of his invalids
still seated where he had left them, and looking weak and hungry.

"Did they bring you no coffee? Have you had no supper?" he asked. And,
as a shake of the head was sole answer, he sallied forth. Appealing to
the sergeant in charge of the distribution of the cooked rations, he was
favored with the brief reply, "The captain didn't give me no orders."
Moreover, there didn't seem to be anything left. The captain was still
leisurely finishing his own supper, after having got the coffee started
on the train. The huge caldrons used for the purpose were already being
lifted off the cars, empty. Every drop had been spilled or swallowed by
the hungry and thirsty crowd. With quick decision Davies stepped to the
lunch-counter, loaded up with huge frontier sandwiches, doughnuts, and
hard-boiled eggs, and bade the manager draw a jug full of coffee and get
it, with some cups, milk, and sugar, on the sleeper at once. He came
forth laden, the Pullman porter with him, as the conductor was trolling,
"All aboard." Down the platform he went with the eyes of half the blue
coats on the cars upon him, and soldiers refreshed by food and coffee
are in more receptive mood than when dejected by hunger. Some men in the
third car who had heard his eager queries of the commissary sergeant
knew for whom those supplies were meant, others did not, and of these
latter one jocular and untutored Patlander sang out, "Bully for the
leftenint; 'tis he that knows how to look out for number wan." Whereat
there came furious shouts of "Shame!" "Shut up!" and inelegant and
opprobrious epithets, all at the expense of the impetuous son of Erin
who had spoken too soon. Some one whacke