At Staunton we got a little more light on the value of Confederate paper. A chivalrous surgeon who accompanied the provost guard (Fontleroy, I think, was his name[4]) politely invited Captain Dickerman of the 26th Massachusetts and myself to take breakfast with him in a restaurant. We needed no urging. The Provost Marshal gave consent. The saloon was kept by a negro named Jackson. His entire stock of provisions consisted of nine eggs, the toughest kind of neck beef, bread and salt, coffee very weak, butter very strong. As we sat waiting, the doctor remarked with a lordly air that under ordinary circumstances he would not deign to eat with Yankees. I answered good-naturedly: "I'm as much ashamed as you can be; and if _you'll_ never tell of it, _I_ won't!" The food, notwithstanding its toughness, rapidly disappeared. Near the last mouthful the doctor said: "You two will have to pay for this breakfast, for I've no money." I had fifteen Confederate dollars remaining of twenty which I had received for a five-dollar greenback at Tom's Brook, and I answered: "Give yourself no anxiety; I'll foot the bill."--"Well, Jackson," said I to the sable proprietor, "what's the damage?" He replied, "I shan't charge you-ones full price. Let's see! Beef, seven; eggs, two--nine; coffee, three--twelve; bread and butter, three--fifteen; three of you--forty-five. I'll call it only thirty-six dollars!" I paid my fifteen; Captain Dickerman pleaded poverty; and the dignified doctor, who had so cordially invited us to partake of his hospitality, promised the disappointed Jackson that he would pay the balance at some future day ("the futurest kind of a day," was added in an undertone). Rejoining the three or four hundred prisoners, we found, besides the Confederate guards, a great crowd of spectators swarming around us. One of them, a fine-looking young man, wearing the blue uniform of a United States captain, made his way through the group, and handed me a twenty-dollar Confederate bill! The following dialogue ensued: "Here, Colonel, take that." "I thank you much. Who are you, so kind to a stranger and an enemy?" "I'm one whom you Yanks would hang, if you could catch me." "Why so? Who are you?" "I'm one of Morgan's guerrillas; wouldn't you hang me?" "I think I should, if you had much of this stuff about you" (holding up the twenty-dollar bill); "I've just paid fifteen Confederate dollars for an imaginary breakfast." "Good for you, Colonel. Here, take another twenty. Now you've forty. That'll pay for an imaginary dinner. Good-bye, Colonel! I have an engagement--to meet some of your cavalry. Remember, Morgan's guerrillas are not rascals, but gentlemen. Good-bye!" He vanished.