The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1899-12-20
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"Dirty niggers," General Grub num-
bled, mopninS tie perspiration from
his snub nosed countenance, for, al
though the tent flap was raised to let
in whatever air was stirring, it was
very hot, and the general, like the rest
of us, preferred, no matter how un-
Justly, to vent his wrath on some one
he disliked. Outside the tent the light
night wind rustled through the tropical
underground about the camp, and
from the black cooks quarters the tin
ny tinkle Of banjo danced into the
darkness in curious contrast to the
regular beat Of sentries feet.
Lieutenant Lane broke the silence
by rising from his stool at the farther
end Of the room and walking with
short, precise steps to where the gener
al sat, that he might hand him the dis
patches he had been copying. He was
an estimable young man-thin, bald
about the temples, an oldish youn:
face, with arched eyebrows and sun
burned Roman nose, giving him the air
Of harassed mosquito. His dispatches
were written with the scrupulous care
Of mind given to detail. the one era
sure, crossed by a neat line OF KS,
adding to the precision Of the whole.
When the aid-de-camp rose, Cassandra,
General Grub's parrot and inseparable
companion, who for the last half hour
had been hanging head downward
from the ridgepole, Strengthened her
self, cooked vicious eye at him and
silently slid to the ground. She hated
him and waddled to the attack as
soon as his back was turned, every tail
feather expressing her joyous wicked
ness.
A moment later Lieutenant Lane
jumped. "Ouchr' he said deliberately.
Fortunes of war;" squawked the
bird, fortunes Of war. Gur-rrr-rrr-
rrr-rrr-rrr."
sIt-it's that green parrot" Lane
explained, as General Grub looked up
quickly.
"Found the calves of your legs, eh?"
he asked, laughing.
The thin aid-de-camp visibly stiffen.
ed and slowly turned beetlike red;
he was not a man Of impulse even
when he blushed. keep 'um out Of
the way. keep 'um out of the way
the general continued, half impatiently
It always i~ritated him to hurt any
ones feelings.
"As If any one could keep his legs
out Of that green parrots way" Lane
grumbled to himself on his way back
TO the desk at the farther END of the
room, where every pen, pencil, rubber
and scrap Of paper lay in it's accus-
toned place, the bits Of string he had
conscientiously saved with great waste
of time and patience piled neatly to-
gether in a japanese basket. Lane
was a. precsionist; order and routine
were the breath Of life to him, and he
was happiest when he could do the
same thing at the same hour Of the
same day the year round.
For another 20 minutes silence reign
ed. Then General Grub raised his voice,
and the aid-de-camp. who could never
remember that a dog does not bite
every time he barks. jumped nerv
ously.
Orderly"
In answer to General Grub's call a
soldier stood at attention, his we'll knit,
taut figure blotting out the square OF
darkness left by the raised tent flap.
"Tell Lieutenant Fielding to report
for orders at once" The man saluted
and disappeared.
A moment later Fielding entered. he
was a tall, slimly built fellow, with
deep set eyes and a resolute chin. You
felt on looking at him that he was a
man whose steady hand on the bride
would give nervous horse confidence
under trying circumstances. Dressed
in a loose coat, riding trousers and
high boots, his lean face, naturally
dark, burned to Il copper bronze by
exposure, he might easily have passed,
in the dim light Of the tent, for a fol:
eigner.
":sit down, sit down. General Gru!I
said, pointin" with the toe Of his boot
to a camp stool near him. Then he
scratched his bullet shaped head coz
cred with bristly, iron gray hair. ard
dealt out the young mans orders.
There were dispatches to be carried
through the lines, and he had been Sc
yooto1 fo, J,ttv