"Oscar--Oscar Breunig."

Armitage sat down and scrutinized the man again without relaxing his
severity.

"You think you have seen me somewhere, so you have followed me in the
streets to make sure. When did this idea first occur to you?"

"I saw you at Fort Myer at the drill last Friday. I have been looking for
you since, and saw you leave your horse at the hotel this afternoon. You
ride at Rock Creek--yes?"

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Breunig?" asked Armitage.

"I was in the army, but served out my time and was discharged
a few months ago and came to Washington to see where they make the
government--yes? I am going to South America. Is it Peru? Yes; there will
be a revolution."

He paused, and Armitage met his eyes; they were very blue and kind,--eyes
that spoke of sincerity and fidelity, such eyes as a leader of forlorn
hopes would like to know were behind him when he gave the order to
charge. Then a curious thing happened. It may have been the contact of
eye with eye that awoke question and response between them; it may have
been a need in one that touched a chord of helplessness in the other; but
suddenly Armitage leaped to his feet and grasped the outstretched hands
of the little soldier.

"Oscar!" he said; and repeated, very softly, "Oscar!"