WAR
Washington. I'll bet Father Abraham'll be gladder to see me than you are. He's glad to see most any one that's fighty like me nowadays. I guess they've all gone back on the poor old man, and he can't lick the South without help. And suppose I get shot full of holes—it'll be his fault—and how'll you like the wind blowing through a nice son of yours—woo!—all on account of a second-hand cousin?"
"I'd rather have you air-tight," says I, and we both laughed hearty, at the joke.
"Say, dad," whispers Dave, "if we can't get shut of one another, maybe we can get shut of the second-hand cousin by marriage. Not?"
"Maybe," says I. "How?"
"There's jobs for her all through Virginia," says Dave: "hospital, sewing cartridge bags, making coffee out of rye and chicory, molding bullets, making uniforms, talking devilish patriotic—to make the men fighty. She can have her choice. Whichever she does best. Virginia's really the place for her. They're mighty busy rebelling down there."
70
