"And these two large regiments, Mr. Welford?" Socola asked.
"Oh," the Virginian exclaimed with a careless touch of scorn in his
voice, "they're Tarheels--not much for looks, but I reckon they'll
_stick_."
"I've an idea they will," was the serious reply.
Dick pointed with pride to a fine-looking regiment of Virginians.
"Good-looking soldiers," Socola observed.
"Aren't they? That's my regiment. You'll hear from them in the first
battle."
"And those giants?" Socola inquired, pointing to the right at a group of
tall, rude-looking fellows.
"Texas Rangers."
"I shouldn't care to meet them in a row--"
"You know what General Taylor said of them in the Mexican War?"
"No--"
"_They're anything but gentlemen or cowards._"
"I agree with him," Socola laughed.
"What chance has a Yankee got against such men?" Dick asked with a wag
of his big blond head.
"Let me show you what they think--"
Socola drew a leaf of _Harper's Magazine_ from his pocket and spread it
before the young trooper's indignant gaze.
The cartoon showed a sickly-looking Southerner carrying his musket under
an umbrella accompanied by a negro with a tray full of mint juleps.
"That's a joke, isn't it!" Dick roared. "Will you give me this paper?"
"Certainly, Monsieur!"
Dick folded the sheet, still laughing.
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