"Whoopee! he was going at a
God-a'mighty pace, I tell you. If he keeps that up he'll be over the
Potomac before sunset."
"Then we are going into Maryland!" cried Jack Powell, jumping to his feet.
"Hurrah for Maryland! We're going to Maryland, God bless her!"
The shouts passed down the road and the Maryland regiment in front sent
back three rousing cheers.
"By Jove, I hope I'll find some shoes there," said Dan, shaking the sand
from his ragged boots, and twisting the shreds of his stockings about his
feet. "I've had to punch holes in my soles and lace them with shoe strings
to the upper leather, or they'd have dropped off long ago."
"Well, I'll begin by making love to a seamstress when I'm over the
Potomac," remarked Welch, getting upon his feet. "I'm decidedly in need of
a couple of patches."
"You make love! You!" roared Jack Powell. "Why, you're the kind of thing
they set up in Maryland to keep the crows away. Now if it were Beau, there,
I see some sense in it--for, I'll be bound, he's slain more hearts than
Yankees in this campaign. The women always drain out their last drop of
buttermilk when he goes on a forage."
"Oh, I don't set up to be a popinjay," retorted Welch witheringly.
"Popinjay, the devil!" scowled Dan, "who's a popinjay?"
"Wall, I'd like a pair of good stout breeches," peacefully interposed
Pinetop. "I've been backin' up agin the fence when I seed a lady comin' for
the last three weeks, an' whenever I set down, I'm plum feared to git up
agin.
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