But a different crowd was there now. They were mostly paunchy men who talked of contracts and profits. One, to whom the others paid deference, was fat, heavy and of middle age, with a fat, heavy face and pouches under his eyes. His small eyes were set close together, but they sparkled with shrewdness and cunning.
The big man presently noticed the lad who was sitting quietly in one of the chairs against the wall. Dick’s was an alien presence there, and doubtless this fact had attracted his attention.
“Good day to you,” said the stranger in a bluff, deep voice. “I take it from your uniform, your tan and your thinness that you’ve come from active service.”
“In both the west and the east,” replied Dick politely. “I was at Shiloh, but soon afterward I was transferred with my regiment to the east.”
“Ah, then, of course, you know what is going on in Virginia?”
“No more than the general public does. I was at Cedar Run, which both we and the rebels claim as a victory.”
The man instantly showed a great increase of interest.
“Were you?” he said. “My own information says that Banks and Pope were surprised by Jackson and that the rebel general has merely drawn off to make a bigger jump. Did you get that impression?”
“Will you tell me why you ask me these questions?” said Dick in the same polite tone.
“Because I’ve a big stake in the results out there. My name is John Watson, and I’m supplying vast quantities of shoes and clothing to our troops.”
Dick turned up the sole of one of his shoes and picked thoughtfully at a hole half way through the sole. Little pieces of paper came out.
“I bought these, Mr. Watson, from a sutler in General Pope’s army,” he said. “I wonder if they came from you?”
A deeper tint flushed the contractor’s cheeks, but in a moment he threw off anger.
“A good joke,” he said jovially. “I see that you’re ready of wit, despite your youth. No, those are not my shoes. I know dishonest men are making great sums out of supplies that are defective or short. A great war gives such people many opportunities, but I scorn them. I’ll not deny that I seek a fair profit, but my chief object is to serve my country. Do you ever reflect, my young friend, that the men who clothe and feed an army have almost as much to do with winning the victory as the men who fight?”
“I’ve thought of it,” said Dick, wondering what the contractor had in mind.
“What regiment do you belong to, if I may ask? My motive in asking these questions is wholly good.”
“One commanded by Colonel Winchester, recently sent from the west. We’ve been in only one battle in the east, that fought at Cedar Run against Jackson.”
Watson again looked at Dick intently. The boy felt that he was being measured and weighed by a man of uncommon perceptions. Whatever might be his moral quality there could be no question of his ability.
“I am, as I told you before,” said Watson, “a servant of my country. A man who feeds and clothes the soldiers well is a patriot, while he who feeds and clothes them badly is a mere money grubber.”
He paused, as if he expected Dick to say something, but the boy was silent and he went on:
“It is to the interest of the country that it be served well in all departments, particularly in the tremendous crisis that we now face. Yet the best patriot cannot always get a chance to serve. He needs friends at court, as they say. Now this colonel of yours, Colonel Winchester-I’ve observed both him and you, although I approached you as if I’d never heard of either of you before-is a man of character and influence. Certain words from him at the right time would be of great value, nor would his favorite aide suffer through bringing the matter to his attention.”
Dick saw clearly now, but he was not impulsive. Experience was teaching him, while yet a boy, to speak softly.