“Come in,” he said. “Father’s here, and he wants to see you.” So McCormack came in; not wholly at ease, to be sure, but with the dignified and courteous bearing of a soldier. The elder Barriscale reached out a friendly hand to him and he took it, and then passed around to the other side of the cot. “Ben is right,” said the elder man. “I did want to see you, and I should not have left camp without having done so. I want to thank you for having notified me of my son’s illness.” “That is a duty,” replied the lieutenant, “which we owe to the parents of our men when they are seriously ill. And I think your son has been seriously, though not dangerously, ill.” “Yes; I have talked with the surgeon, who thinks his escape from something far worse than this was extremely fortunate.” “And I am extremely glad,” added the lieutenant, “that he is so well on the road to recovery, and will soon be back with us. We all appreciate him and need him. He is an ideal soldier.” The words came unconsciously, almost impetuously. If McCormack had stopped to consider he might not have uttered them. Still he made no attempt to modify them, for he knew that they were true. But the heart of the father had been touched; and if any feeling of prejudice or resentment against his son’s one time rival had remained with him prior to his journey south, it vanished in this moment. Blunt and direct in meeting opposition to his will, he was equally blunt and direct in acknowledging his faults or mistakes, or expressing his gratitude or approval. “I want to thank you, sir,” he said, “for your generosity. Your conduct toward my son since the day of the riot has been more than magnanimous.” “You are very kind to think so and to say so,” replied the lieutenant modestly. “And I want to say further,” went on the manufacturer, “that while there was a time when I doubted your true Americanism, that time has passed. Your conduct as an officer has proved your worth as a patriot. You have lived up to the best traditions of the American soldier. I admire your judgment, sir, and your patience and skill, and broad-mindedness, and----” What more Benjamin Barriscale, Sr., would have said had not a peculiar choking sensation checked his speech, cannot be definitely known. It is certain that his eyes were moist and his lips trembled. His enthusiasm and his surroundings had betrayed him into an emotion such as he had not experienced in years. And as for his son, two big tears escaping from his eyes were coursing down his cheeks unheeded and undisturbed. Lieutenant Halpert McCormack did not quite know what to say. He began to stumble over some awkward expression of appreciation and thanks, but the elder Barriscale cut him short. “There,” he said, “the incident is closed. I want to go up and see the boys of your company, and take home any messages they want to send. And if there’s anything they need while they’re down here, they shall have it if it’s in my power to get it to them.”