, by those he met on the street and in the
office, and he noticed that few of them took the trouble to speak to
him. This being the case, he wondered what influence had been at work to
bring about the change he noticed before he was fairly inside the town
limits. It was "Hello, Marcy!" here, and "How are you, old fellow?"
there, and when he hitched his horse and went into the post-office,
where there was a crowd assembled, his greeting was as cordial as any
that had ever been extended to him. Marcy opened his eyes, but said
little, knowing that if he had the patience to wait somebody would
explain the matter to him. He got a clue to the situation when young
Allison, after telling him that the mail wagon had broken down and might
not be along for an hour or two, inquired:

"How's your ship, Marcy? I suppose you calculate to sweep the sea of
everything that carries the Yankee flag, don't you? I shall look for
astonishing reports when you get among the war-ships that are coming to
blockade the coast."

Allison was a loud-mouthed young rebel who had made himself particularly
obnoxious to quiet, peace-loving Marcy Gray. He did not say anything to
Marcy's face that the latter could resent (he was afraid to do that,
notwithstanding the fact that he always carried a loaded revolver in his
pocket), but he had said a good many insulting words to others that were
intended for Marcy's benefit. The latter turned upon him like a flash,
and said, so that every one in the office heard it:

"We don't expect to whip the whole Yankee navy, but we shall do the best
we can, and that's more than you seem inclined to do. You have had a
good deal to say concerning the cowards who are stopping at home when
the South is calling for their services. Why did you not go to the front
yourself long ago, you noisy braggart? Put a uniform on before you speak
to me again."

"Good for you, Marcy," cried a score of voices. "Actions and not frothy
sentiment are what we want now."

"Hit him again and I'll help," shouted another; and Marcy's old-time
friend, Wat Gifford, elbowed his way through the crowd. He was in full
uniform, and was the only citizen of Nashville who had snuffed powder at
the bombardment of Fort Sumter. "Talk is cheap, but it takes patriotism
to face Yankees."

If Marcy had had a week in which to consider the matter, he could not
have done a better thing than he did right there on the spur of the
moment. Young Allison slunk away aba