The Provost-Marshal was found in his office, dealing out sentences like a shoulder-strapped Rhadamanthes. It was a place that just suited Billings's tastes. There he could bully to his heart's content, with no chance for his victims getting back at him, and could make it very uncomfortable for those who were disposed to sneer at his military career. With a scowl on his brow, and a big chew of tobacco in his mouth, he sat in his chair, and disposed of the cases brought before him with abusive comments, and in the ways that he thought would give the men the most pain and trouble. It was a manifestation of his power that he gloated over. "Take the position of soldiers, you slouching clodhoppers," he said, with an assortment of oaths, as the squad entered the office. "One'd think you a passel o' hawbucks half-drunk at a log-rollin', instead o' soldiers in the presence o' your superior officer. Shut them gapin' mouths, lift up them shock-heads, button up your blouses, put your hands down to your sides, and don't no man speak to me without salootin'. And mind what you say, or I'll give you a spell on bread and water, and send you back in irons. I want you to understand that I'll have no foolishness. You can't monkey with me as you can with some officers. "Had your pocket picked, and your furlough as well as your money taken," he sneered to the first statement. "You expect me to believe that, you sickly-faced yallerhammer. I'll just give you five days' hard labor before sending you back, for lying to me. Go over there to the left, and take your place in that police squad." "No," he said to the second, "that sick mother racket won't work. Every man we ketch now skulking home is goin' to see his sick and dying mother. There wouldn't be no army if we allowed every man who has a sick mother to go and visit her. None o' your back talk, or I'll put the irons on you." "No," to a third, "you can't go back to your boarding place for your things, not even with a guard. I know you. You'd give the guard the slip before you went 10 rods. Let your things go. Probably you stole 'em, anyway." Lieut.-Col. Billings's eye lighted on Shorty, with an expression of having seen him somewhere. "Where do you belong?" he asked crossly. "Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry," replied Shorty proudly. "Yes. I remember you now," said the Provost-Marshal savagely. "You're one o' them infernal nigger-thieves that brung disgrace on the regiment. You're one o' them that made it so notorious that decent men who had a respect for other people's property was glad to get out of it." "You're a liar," said Shorty hotly. "You didn't git out o' the regiment because it stole niggers. That's only a pretend. The rear is full o' fellers like you who pretend to be sore on the nigger question, as an excuse for not going to the front. You sneaked out o' every fight the regiment went into. You got out of the regiment because it was too fond of doin' its duty."