The tone in which he
addressed him was cold, menacing, sinister. His words were simple, but
his eyes and face were heavy with warning.
"Who is running this?" he asked.
The little soldier muttered, and shuffled away. From under the brim of
his campaign hat, his eyes cast furtive glances up and down the road. As
though anxious to wipe out the effect of his comrade's words, the
sergeant addressed Lathrop suavely and in a tone of conciliation.
"You see," he explained, "him and me are scouts. We're not supposed to
waste time taking prisoners. So, we'll set you free." He waved his hand
invitingly toward the bicycle. "You can go!" he said.
To Miss Farrar's indignation Lathrop, instead of accepting his freedom,
remained motionless.
"I can't!" he said. "I'm on post. My captain ordered me to stay in front
of this house until I was relieved."
Miss Farrar, amazed at such duplicity, exclaimed aloud:
"He is _not_ on post!" she protested. "He's a scout! He wants to stop
here, because--because--he's hungry. I wouldn't have let you take him
prisoner, if I had not thought you would take him away with you." She
appealed to the sergeant.
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