Before he could finish his sentence George entered the office, followed by Waggie. He had lingered about the Marietta Station, after leaving the platform of the car, until he was safe from meeting the Captain, in case that gentleman should have alighted at this place. Then he had cautiously made his way to the hotel. Watson rose as quietly as if the appearance of George was just what he had been expecting. "What did you lag behind at the station for, George?" he asked. Then, turning to Andrews, he said: "Here's another Kentuckian, sir--a nephew of mine. He wants to join the Confederate army, too." George, as he shook hands with Andrews quite as if they had never met each other before, could not help admiring the presence of mind of Watson. "You young rascal," whispered the latter, "you have given me some miserable minutes." "Hush!" commanded Andrews, in the same tone of voice. "We must not talk together any more. As soon as you go up-stairs to bed you must come to my room--number 10, on the second floor, and get your instructions for to-morrow. Everything has gone very smoothly so far, and we are all here excepting two of us, although some of us have had a pretty ticklish time in getting through to this town. Remember--Room Number 10." Andrews moved away. Soon all the members of the party assembled at the hotel were in their rooms up-stairs, presumably asleep, with the exception of George and his three companions. They were able, after considerable coaxing, to get admittance into the dining-room. Thereby they secured a nocturnal meal of tough ham, better eggs, and some muddy "coffee." The latter was in reality a concoction consisting of about seven-eights of chickory, and the other eighth,--but what the remaining eighth was only the cook could have told. The meal tasted like a Delmonico feast to the famished wanderers, nor was it the less acceptable because they saw it nearly consumed before their hungry eyes; for Waggie, who had a power of observation that would have done credit to a detective, and a scent of which a hound might well have been proud, made his way into the dining-room in advance of the party, and jumped upon the table while the negro waiter's back was turned. As George entered, the dog was about to pounce upon the large plate of ham. Mr. Wag cast one sheepish look upon his master, and then retired under the table, where he had his supper later on. After they had finished their meal, the four conspirators were taken up-stairs by a sleepy bell-boy, and shown into a large room containing two double beds. The servant lighted a kerosene lamp that stood on a centre table, and then shuffled down to the office. Macgreggor lifted the lamp to take a survey of the room. "Take a good look at those beds, fellows," he said, with a grim chuckle; "it may be a long time before you sleep on such comfortable ones again. For if we come to grief in this expedition----"