ampton in a pair of spotless yellow kid gloves.
They caught and rolled him in the dust and spoiled his gloves.

He laughed and took it good naturedly.

The hardier sons of the South held the attention of the keen, observing
eyes with stronger interest. He knew what would become of those trunks
and fine clothes. The thing he wished most to know was the quality and
the temper of the average man in the Southern ranks.

Socola met Dick Welford suddenly face to face, smiled and bowed. Dick
hesitated, returned his recognition and offered his hand.

"Mr. Welford--"

"Signor Socola."

Dick's greeting was a little awkward, but the older man put him at once
at ease with his frank, friendly manners.

"A brave show your _Champ de Mars_, sir!"

"Does look like business, doesn't it?" Dick responded with pride. "Would
you like to go through the camps and see our men?"

"Very much."

"Come, I'll show you."

Two hundred yards from the camp of the Hampton Legion they found the
Louisiana Zouaves of Wheat's command, small, tough-looking men with
gleaming black eyes.

"Frenchmen!" Dick sneered. "They'll fight though--"

"Their people in the old world have that reputation," Socola dryly
remarked.

Beyond them lay a regiment of fierce, be-whiskered countrymen from the
lower sections of Mississippi.

"Look out for those fellows," the young Southerner said serenely.
"They're from old Jeff's home. You'll hear from them. Their fathers all
fought in Mexico."

Socola nodded.

Beside the Mississippians lay a regiment of long-legged, sinewy riflemen
from Arkansas.

A hundred yards further they saw the quaint coon-skin caps of John B.
Gordon's company from Georgia.

Socola watched these lanky mountaineers with keen interest.

"The Raccoon Roughs," Dick explained. "First company of Georgia
volunteers. They had to march over two or three States before anybody
would muster them in. They're happy as June bugs now."

They passed two regiments of quiet North Carolinians. The young
Northerner observed their strong, muscular bodies and earnest faces.

"And these two large regiments, Mr. Welford?" Socola asked.

"Oh," the Virginian exclaimed with a careless touch of scorn in his
voice, "they're Tarheels--not much for looks, but I reckon they'll
_stick_."

"I've an idea they will," was the serious reply.

Dick pointed with pride to a fine-looking regiment of Virginians.

"Good-looking soldiers," Socola observed.

"Aren't the