And now, in the thick of it all, came the summons from Hooker. As Dad stood in Fighting Joe’s presence once more he recalled keenly his first interview with the eccentric fire-eater, when, despite his error in failing to be captured, he had won the general’s approval and his own first commission. This time he found Hooker dictating to a military secretary on the porch of a farmhouse. Hooker dismissed the secretary with a nod and turned to the waiting officer. “Major Dadd,” he began abruptly, “General McClellan has asked me to thank you personally, in his name, for your share in the affair of last week. Which I herewith do. That ends my official business with you at the moment. But I would like to add a question or so on my own account--questions you are not bound to answer unless you choose.” He hesitated, then went on: “I am told that several of the officers of your corps planned a little supper in your honor a night or two ago to celebrate your promotion and its cause--also, that you refused to attend it. “May I ask why you offered this slight to them? “I repeat--you need not answer unless you wish to do so.” “Slight?” Dad caught up the word. “I--I surely did not intend it so, sir. And I’m heartily sorry they took it as such. I made my refusal as courteous as I could. And--” “But why did you refuse?” “I had done nothing worthy of any special ovation,” evaded Dad. Hooker frowned. “Modesty is supposed to be an excellent quality,” said he, “though for my own part I could never see any particular use for it. But false modesty is absurd. You know well enough the worth of what you did. Also, you are dodging the issue. That surely was not your reason for refusing a courtesy tendered you by your brother officers.” “No, sir,” assented Dad simply. “It was not. I refused because--because there was certain to be more or less drinking. And--” “And, as the guest of honor, you might have had to get very pleasantly drunk? Or are you a temperance devotee?” “Neither, sir. I would probably have been foolish enough to drink. And then--all I have been striving for this past year would have gone for nothing. I was afraid. So I ran away from the danger.” Hooker was eying him narrowly. “You couldn’t trust yourself where drink was?” “I don’t say that,” corrected Dad. “I only say it was safer for me not to. That’s why I refused.” “You have not the look of a man who has been a heavy drinker,” said Hooker, noting the lean and muscular figure, the clear and level eyes, the firm mouth. Dad made no comment. Hooker spoke again. “There is much curiosity about you in your corps, Major Dadd,” said he. “And while I have no wish to pry into any man’s personal affairs, yet the interests of all my officers are close to me. And I do not like to have rumors about them spread among the men. Soldiers are worse gossips than spinsters.