BIJAH. Now, don't get excited, Polly; I'm by no means a blooming flower in the garden of youth myself. I've lived long enough to find out that money is the root of all evil; that an old rat is more capable from experience of keeping out of traps than a young one; that life may be worth living, but it isn't worth much of anything else; that an old sweetheart is at least a blessed memory; and so, when this cruel war is over, I'm going to lay my heart at the feet of—Miss Polly Primrose. POLLY. Oh, Bijah! BIJAH. In the meantime, as I am rather hungry, a bite of something from the cupboard wouldn't go bad. POLLY. Then come with me. BIJAH. Thanks, Polly; but before I accept of your hospitality, who is the proprietor of this establishment? POLLY. Colonel Gordon Graham. BIJAH. What? You don't mean it. (_Aside._) Here's luck. (_Aloud._) That grand old fellow? POLLY. Do you know him? BIJAH. Know him? Wal, I guess. Shot in the back. A dastardly trick. POLLY (_holding out hand_). Bijah, give me your hand; you are my friend for life. The colonel is one of the bravest and best of men. The shot that brought him down could not keep him there: for, beckoning to two of his men, he was carried in their arms to the head of his regiment; and, waving his sword, led them on, driving the enemy in all directions. Mr. Randolph Newcomb, one of the fine gentlemen of the city, professes great friendship for the colonel; but, I've heard it whispered about, that he tries to make him out a coward. Oh, I just hate him. BIJAH. He does, does he? I say, Polly, do they ever speak of Roger Carruth? POLLY. Law, no; poor Miss Dorothy. She's just as bright as ever: but mind you, way down deep, she just grieves and grieves. I know, for I've seen her, when she thought she was alone. You see, Mr. Newcomb is down on Mr. Roger, and he is so intimate with the colonel, who believes that he is something of a saint, that he has made the colonel down on him too. That just breaks poor Mrs. Graham's heart, for Mr. Roger is her brother, you know. I should think Mr. Roger might send Miss Dorothy some word, at least, and not leave her to fret her heart out. Oh, these men, they make me tired. Haven't a thought for any one besides themselves. BIJAH. Hush, Polly, don't say that. Haven't I marched from Oldtown just to catch a glimpse of your sweet face? POLLY. Indeed you haven't. You've done all that for glory, or, for all I know, some other girl. BIJAH. Oh, come, Polly, don't be hard on a fellow. You don't know how much stock you hold in that tender heart of mine. Its value is getting higher; better hold on to it, or some day, when the war is over, and it is above _par_, you will wish that you hadn't sold out. Besides, Polly, don't be down on Roger Carruth; he's “pure gold.” He'll come to the front one of these days, and Mr. Randolph Newcomb won't stand the fire. POLLY. What do you know about Mr. Newcomb, Bijah?