Part 21 (1/2)

”Come on, find that s.h.i.+rt for me,” said Tom. He was talking with one eye on the door, fearing the entrance of someone who would spoil his story. ”The agent got on the hand car and went a piece down the track. Pretty soon he came back a-flying. 'The bridge is on fire!' he yelled. So we got on the hand car, and went down to the bridge. There the pa.s.senger train stood, with all the pa.s.sengers and the train crew fighting the fire. They were trying to put it out so the train could get across. Can't you find it?” This last to the old man.

”We don't sell many s.h.i.+rts,” he answered. ”Don't pay. Most of the people makes 'em 'emselves. Have we got any s.h.i.+rts, Mary?”

”I ain't never seen any,” she replied. ”I bin here twenty years.”

”Then sell me one of yours,” Tom said.

”Can't do that.”

”Why not?”

”Well....”

”If you won't sell me a s.h.i.+rt, I can't waste my time here talking.” Tom started impatiently towards the door.

”Here, young man,” said the woman, ”you come back here with me. I reckon we can find something for you.” She picked up the lamp and led the way into the back room. It was the combined living-room, bedroom, and dining-room of the family. One door led to the yard behind the house, the other into a lean-to shanty which served as a kitchen. Tom, by way of precaution, took it in rapidly.

”Tell us about the bridge,” urged the boy.

Tom continued on a rambling story of how he had helped to fight the fire, how sparks had fallen on him, and how he had to tear his s.h.i.+rt off because it was in flames. He gave a lurid description of the scene. The woman clucked her tongue at intervals, the man exclaimed, ”Don't say so!” repeatedly, and the boy grunted his appreciation. Tom talked on and on, reserving the end of his story. At last the woman held a s.h.i.+rt out to him-it seemed to Tom to represent everything which stood between him and his ultimate triumphal return to the Union lines. Without a s.h.i.+rt he could no nothing; with it there was some chance of having his story believed. He took it from her.

”And finally the bridge went down,” he continued. ”The flames shot hundreds of feet in the air, and the sparks fell down for five minutes afterwards.

The pa.s.senger train went back to Dalton, and I decided that I'd go to Chattanooga on foot.”

”Don't say so!”

Through the door to the kitchen Tom could see a kettle of water steaming on the stove. ”I'd like to wash some of this soot off,” he said.

The woman led him to the kitchen and gave him a tin basin. ”When the door was closed behind her, he stripped off the cape and coat, and fell to scrubbing with the hot water and soap. Then he dried himself and pulled on the s.h.i.+rt. It was several sizes too small for him, but it was better than nothing at all. He could hear the two old people and the boy discussing the fire. Probably, he thought, they would talk of little else until they heard the real story. He thanked his stars that he had struck this one quiet spot in the chaos of war to prepare himself for the adventures of the next few days. It was providential. Now he was ready to meet the world.

”I'd like to buy something to eat,” he said as he stepped from the kitchen.

”We ain't got much,” answered the woman.

”I'll pay you well,” he replied. ”I'll have to carry it with me. It's getting dark and I must be getting on to Chattanooga.”

”Will some ham an' some bread do?”

”Splendidly.”

She went into the kitchen.

”How did you say that bridge caught on fire?” asked the old man.

”Sparks from a locomotive, I suppose.”

”You don't say so-in all this rain!”

Five minutes later he left the store and disappeared down the road which led to Chattanooga. Then he climbed a fence and made his way across the fields to a road which ran north. For a half-hour he plodded through the mud. The strain of the long day was commencing to tell upon him, and each step forward cost a mighty effort. The hunks of mud which acc.u.mulated on his shoes felt like blocks of lead weighing him down.

”About enough for this day,” he mumbled to himself. Ahead of him he saw a barn, standing a few yards from the road. Farther along, perhaps a hundred yards, was the house with its lighted windows. He walked close to the rail fence and approached the barn cautiously, listening for dogs; then he crawled under the fence and squatted there, waiting. It was still light enough for him to be seen from the house, and so he decided not to make the rush for the barn until later. Several minutes pa.s.sed, then he heard the sound of boots splas.h.i.+ng along the muddy road, and the mumble of voices. He threw himself on the wet sod and lay there, hidden by the weeds and darkness. The voices came near.