“They talk about the Southerners comin’ on an’ takin’ Washington,” he said, “but don’t you believe it.  They haven’t got the forces, an’ while they won the victory I guess they’re about as tired as we are.  Our boys talk about a hundred thousand rebels jumpin’ on ’em, an’ some felt as if they was a million, but they weren’t any more than we was, maybe not as many, an’ when they are all stove up themselves how can they attack Washington in its fortifications!  Don’t be so troubled, boy.  The Union ain’t smashed up yet.  Just recollect whenever it’s dark that light’s bound to come later on.  What do you say to that, Long Legs?”

He spoke to a very tall and very thin youth who marched about a half dozen feet away from them.  The boy, who seemed to be about eighteen years of age, turned to them a face which was pale despite the Virginia sun.  But it was the pallor of indoor life, not of fear, as the countenance was good and strong, long, narrow, the chin pointed, the nose large and bridged like that of an old Roman, the eyes full blue and slightly nearsighted.  But there was a faint twinkle in those same nearsighted eyes as he replied in precise tones: 

“According to all the experience of centuries and all the mathematical formulae that can be deduced therefrom night is bound to be followed by day.  We have been whipped by the rebels, but it follows with arithmetical certainty that if we keep on fighting long enough we will whip them in time.  Let x equal time and y equal opportunity.  Then when x and y come together we shall have x plus y which will equal success.  Does my logic seem cogent to you, Mr. Big Shoulders and Big Hands?”

Whitley stared at him in amazement and admiration.

“I haven’t heard so many big words in a long time,” he said, “an’ then, too, you bring ’em out so nice an’ smooth, marchin’ in place as regular as a drilled troop.”

“I’ve been drilled too,” said the tall boy, smiling.  “My name is George Warner, and I come from Vermont.  I began teaching a district school when I was sixteen years old, and I would be teaching now, if it were not for the war.  My specialty is mathematics.  X equals the war, y equals me and x plus y equals me in the war.”

“Your name is Warner and you are from Vermont,” said Dick eagerly.  “Why, there was a Warner who struck hard for independence at Bennington in the Revolution.”

“That’s my family,” replied the youth proudly.  “Seth Warner delivered a mighty blow that helped to form this Union, and although I don’t know much except to teach school I’m going to put in a little one to help save it.  X equalled the occasion, y equalled my willingness to meet it, and x plus y have brought me here.”

Dick told who he and Whitley were, and he felt at once that he and this long and mathematical Vermont lad were going to be friends.  Whitley also continued to look upon Warner with much favor.

“I respect anybody who can talk in mathematics as you do,” he said.  “Now with me I never know what x equals an’ I never know what y equals, so if I was to get x an’ y together they might land me about ten thousand miles from where I wanted to be.  But a fellow can bend too much over books.  That’s what’s the matter with them eyes of yours, which I notice always have to take two looks where I take only one.”