w
morning. The South has need of all the men she can muster."

"That's true," answered the clerk; "Abe Lincoln and Jefferson Davis have
both found out by this time that this war won't be any child's play. It'll
last a couple of years yet, or my name's not Dan Sanderson."

Macgreggor and Jenks walked up to the register on the desk, without
showing any sign of recognition, and put down their names respectively as
"Henry Fielding, Memphis, Tennessee," and "Major Thomas Brown,
Chattanooga." The latter, it will be remembered, wore a Confederate
uniform. Watson wrote his real name, in a bold, round hand, and added:
"Fleming County, Kentucky." Then he turned towards Andrews. "Well,
stranger," he said, "did I hear you say you were from Kentucky? I'm a
Kentuckian myself. What's your county?"

He extended his right hand and greeted Andrews with the air of a man who
would like to cultivate a new acquaintance. Andrews rose, of course, to
the occasion, by answering: "I'm always glad to meet a man from my own
state. I'm from Fleming County."

"Well, I'll be struck!" cried Watson. "That's my county, too! What part of
it do you live in?"

After a little more of this conversation, which was given in loud tones,
the two men withdrew to a corner and sat down. "We are all here now except
two of our men," said Andrews, in a low voice. "Half of the fellows have
gone to bed, thoroughly tired out. But where's George? Isn't he with
you?"

"It makes me sick to think where he is," whispered Watson, "for----"

Before he could finish his sentence George entered the office, followed by
Waggie. He had lingered about the Marietta Station, after leaving the
platform of the car, until he was safe from meeting the Captain, in case
that gentleman should have alighted at this place. Then he had cautiously
made his way to the hotel.

Watson rose as quietly as if the appearance of George was just what he had
been expecting. "What did you lag behind at the station for, George?" he
asked. Then, turning to Andrews, he said: "Here's another Kentuckian,
sir--a nephew of mine. He wants to join the Confederate army, too."

George, as he shook hands with Andrews quite as if they had never met each
other before, could not help admiring the presence of mind of Watson.

"You young rascal," whispered the latter, "you have given me some
miserable minutes."

"Hush!" commanded Andrews, in the same tone of voice. "We must not talk
together any more. As soon as