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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

I took up my pen, and until twilight we spoke thereafter only of abstracts and requisitions. But then he led me on to tell him all about myself. I explained why my first name was Richard and my second name Thorndyke, and dwelt especially on the enormous differences between the Smiths from whom we were and those from whom we were not descended.

As the rider wheeled away I blurted out with anxious loudness in the general hubbub, "Isn't his brother with him?"

I mumbled something about never wishing to tempt any one.

The thunder of our own hoofs Was all the sound we heard.

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