At four o’clock, Mr. Hopper took an Olive Street car, tucking himself into the far corner where he would not be disturbed by any ladies who might enter.  In the course of an hour or so, he alighted at the western gate of the camp on the Olive Street road.  Refreshing himself with a little tobacco, he let himself be carried leisurely by the crowd between the rows of tents.  A philosophy of his own (which many men before and since have adopted) permitted him to stare with a superior good nature at the open love-making around him.  He imagined his own figure,—­which was already growing a little stout,—­in a light gray jacket and duck trousers, and laughed.  Eliphalet was not burdened with illusions of that kind.  These heroes might have their hero-worship.  Life held something dearer for him.

As he was sauntering toward a deserted seat at the foot of a tree, it so chanced that he was overtaken by Mr. Cluyme and his daughter Belle.  Only that morning, this gentleman, in glancing through the real estate column of his newspaper, had fallen upon a deed of sale which made him wink.  He reminded his wife that Mr. Hopper had not been to supper of late.  So now Mr. Cluyme held out his hand with more than common cordiality.  When Mr. Hopper took it, the fingers did not close any too tightly over his own.  But it may be well to remark that Mr. Hopper himself did not do any squeezing.  He took off his hat grudgingly to Miss Belle.  He had never liked the custom.

“I hope you will take pot luck with us soon again, Mr. Hopper,” said the elder gentleman.  “We only have plain and simple things, but they are wholesome, sir.  Dainties are poor things to work on.  I told that to his Royal Highness when he was here last fall.  He was speaking to me on the merits of roast beef—­”

“It’s a fine day,” said Mr. Hopper.

“So it is,” Mr. Cluyme assented.  Letting his gaze wander over the camp, he added casually, “I see that they have got a few mortars and howitzers since yesterday.  I suppose that is the stuff we heard so much about, which came on the ‘Swon’ marked ‘marble.’  They say Jeff Davis sent the stuff to ’em from the Government arsenal the Secesh captured at Baton Rouge.  They’re pretty near ready to move on our arsenal now.”

Mr. Hopper listened with composure.  He was not greatly interested in this matter which had stirred the city to the quick.  Neither had Mr. Cluyme spoken as one who was deeply moved.  Just then, as if to spare the pains of a reply, a “Jenny Lind” passed them.  Miss Belle recognized the carriage immediately as belonging to an elderly lady who was well known in St. Louis.  Every day she drove out, dressed in black bombazine, and heavily veiled.  But she was blind.  As the mother-in-law of the stalwart Union leader of the city, Miss Belle’s comment about her appearance in Camp Jackson was not out of place.

“Well!” she exclaimed, “I’d like to know what she’s doing here!”