“Hah!” said he, “you have news for old Put, have you?”

There was something in the cheap familiarity of this that aroused the anger of young Prentiss. He had seen the bluff, straightforward Putnam face a thousand dangers that night upon Breed’s Hill, he had seen him storming in the midst of the rout, striving to rally his men, pleading with them to make one more desperate stand. And now to hear him so referred to by this mincing fop filled him with resentment.

“My business is with General Putnam,” said he, stiffly.

The dragoon marked his manner and[39] laughed, while at the same time his glances bade the ladies in the carriage mark his wit.

[39]

“What?” cried he. “Here’s a right proper New Englander, indeed.” He smoothed the sleeves of his well fitting coat and flecked some invisible specks from his epauletted shoulders. “They hold their officers as something more than human at Massachusetts Bay,” he proceeded, addressing the group of militiamen. “And one must not style them with anything less than their full dignity.”

The militiamen smiled broadly, while the citizens guffawed; the ladies in the carriage tittered, and cast mirthful looks at the youth from the northern colony. But one among them did not smile; and George noticed this at the moment in which he recognized her. It was Peggy Camp.

“A man wearing a uniform for the first time,” said George tartly, and with a sweep of the eyes that took in the other’s immaculate costume, “should show a little respect for a soldier of the general’s known service. At least that is the belief generally held in Boston.”

The fop choked, stuttered and grew red at this biting answer. The mirthful looks of the[40] ladies were now turned upon him; and while he was mentally casting about for some witty rejoinder, a soggy looking man in the dress of a merchant and a countenance like a point of interrogation, took young Prentiss eagerly by the sleeve.

[40]

“There is fresh news, then, from Boston way? Of what nature is it, young man?”

“Any news that I personally have,” said the youth, “is very commonplace and of no value.”

“That you personally have? Ah, yes, perhaps,” and here the man’s face grew more interrogative than ever. “But your dispatches?”

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