General Hooker was picturesquely clad in a mere fraction of his uniform and was gulping down large mouthfuls of very black and very hot coffee from a tin dipper. In his other hand was a slice of unbuttered bread. “Sergeant James Dadd, of the Blankth Ohio Infantry,” announced Dad, saluting, “with dispatches from Brigadier-General----” He paused in consternation midway in his formal announcement. To his amaze, General Hooker set down his portable breakfast on a window-sill, gaped in wonder for an instant at the courier, then burst into a fit of unextinguishable laughter. “The dispatches, sir,” volunteered Dad, “are of the utmost importance, so I was told by General----” “Importance!” gasped Hooker, weak with laughter. “Oh, man! _Importance?_ Do you mean to say he didn’t tell you? Didn’t you even _guess_?” CHAPTER XV FIGHTING JOE “Guess?” echoed Dad, returning the general’s amused gaze with an expression upon his own face of gross perplexity. “I--I don’t understand, sir.” General Hooker seemed to realize that his habitual, easy informality toward his subordinates--for which they adored him and whereon none had been known to presume--had gone well-nigh beyond bounds. For he checked his laughter and, with a touch of authority in his big voice, said: “Make your report.” Briefly Dad outlined the orders given him by his brigade commander, the adventures he had undergone on the previous day, and the clever scout work and hard riding which had marked the night stage of his journey. Hooker listened with real interest; his eyes, under half-closed lids, narrowly reading the speaker’s features. Yet when the short recital was finished the mirth sprang back unbidden into the general’s tanned face. “Sergeant Dadd,” he asked whimsically, “do you ever think?” The odd question, tenfold more strange coming from a general officer to an enlisted man, deepened Dad’s bewilderment. “Think?” he repeated. “Yes. Or do you prefer to be the supposedly model soldier who works like a machine and who leaves to his superior officers the task of thinking?” “When thinking can help,” answered Dad, “I suppose I do my share of it. But I don’t let it interfere with the orders given me.” “Did you happen to think when you were told to ride across nearly forty miles of hostile country with these dispatches for me?” insisted the general, the same quizzical look in his half-shut eyes. “Frankly, sir,” returned Dad, “I did. I remember that I thought--” “Well?” urged Hooker impatiently. “Out with it, man! If it wasn’t complimentary to anyone in particular don’t be afraid to say so.”