“When we strike the railroad, home you go,” said he.

“We’ll see about that,” said the old lady.

“It’s disgraceful,” said he.  “Pigging with a whole battery,” said he.  “Oh, the shame of it!” said he.

“Shoulder-straps don’t always make a gentleman,” said she.

“Holy Smoke!” said he, galloping off very fierce and grand on his little horse, to haul Dr. Marcus over the coals.  They say the contract surgeon got it in the neck, but we were short-handed in that department already, Dr. Fenelly having been killed in action, so the captain could do nothing worse nor reprimand him.  It was bad enough as it was—­for Marcus—­for he wasn’t no old lady, and the captain could let himself rip.  And, I tell you, it was a caution any time to be up against Captain Howard, for, though he could be nice as pie and perlite to beat the band, it only needed the occasion for him to unloose on you like a thirteen-inch gun.

Well, it was perfectly lovely what happened next, for, with all her sassiness, the old lady felt pretty blue, and talked about Benny for hours, like she always did when she was down-hearted; and, by this time, you know, she had got to love Battery B, and every boy in it; and it naturally went against her to think of starting out all over again with strangers, and them maybe Volunteers.  So you can guess what her feelings was that night when the captain went down with fever.  It was like getting money from home!

The captain had never been sick in his life, and he took it hard to be laid by and keep off the flies, while another feller ran the battery and jumped his place.  I guess it came over him that he wasn’t the main guy after all, and that it wouldn’t matter a hill of beans whether he lived or quit.  Them’s one of the things you learn in hospital, and the most are the better for it; but the captain, you see, was getting his lesson a bit late.  So he was layed off, with amigos to carry him or bolo him (like what amigos are when they get a chance), and the old lady give a whoop and took him in charge.  My!  If she wasn’t good to that man. and, as for coals of fire, she regularly slung them at him!  The doctor, too, got his little axe in, and was everlastingly praising the old lady, and telling the captain he would have been a goner, if it hadn’t been for her!  And, when the captain grew better—­which he did after a few days—­he was that meek he’d eat out of your hand.  The old lady was not only a champion nurse, but she was a buster to cook.  Give her a ham-bone and a box of matches and she could turn out a French dinner of five courses, with oofs-sur-le-plate, and veal-cutlets in paper pants!  It was then, I reckon, she settled the captain for good; and, when he picked up and was able to walk about camp, leaning pretty heavy on her arm, she called him “George” and “My boy”—­like that—­and you might have taken him for Benny and she his Ma.