“Chick,” was the reply, “I feel this morning that that flag is the most beautiful thing in the world, and that every American citizen should love it.” “And,” added Chick, “should ought to want to be a soldier an’ fight under it. That’s what I’ve been wanting to be; but lately I’m kind o’ discouraged.” “Why discouraged, Chick?” “Oh, I’m afraid I won’t never git into the Guard now. It feels as though somethin’s gone wrong inside o’ me.” McCormack looked down at the boy, at his gray face, his hollow eyes, his sunken cheeks, at the evidences of physical pain with which his countenance was marked, and he felt a sudden pity for him. “You’re not well, Chick,” he said; “you ought not to be here.” “I know,” was the labored reply. “But I couldn’t help comin’. I heard about it, an’ I got up an’ come away while the old woman was asleep.” A wan smile spread over his face at the memory of his diplomatic escape. “I thought, mebbe,” he continued, “I might never see the boys ag’in--in action; and I--wanted to see ’em.” “Chick, you must go back home. You’re too ill to stay here.” The boy ignored the command and asked a question. “They ain’t through tryin’ you yet, air they?” “No, the trial will be resumed next Tuesday. Chick, you----” “Well, Mr. ’Cormack, if I should--should jest happen, you know--to die before then, they couldn’t git nothin’ on you, could they?” He was leaning against a tie-post at the curb, trembling and exhausted. He looked up anxiously and wistfully at the lieutenant as he spoke. McCormack bent down and put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and turned his face toward the city. “Chick, don’t talk that way. You can’t hurt me in a thousand years so much as I’ve hurt myself many a time in a day. Now go back home and try to get well. We can’t do without you in the Guard.” A man came across the plaza from the Barriscale offices, and thrust a written message into the lieutenant’s hands. It was to the effect that the marchers were at the outskirts of the city; that they had sacked provision and liquor stores on their way, were drunk, riotous, boastful and destructive, and would reach the plaza in less than ten minutes. Even as McCormack finished reading the message he heard in the distance the dull roar that presaged the coming of the mob. CHAPTER XVI