between farming, hunting and drinking. He stood there leaning against
the wall, his face more flushed than one likes to see a friend's face
before midday.

"Hullo, ol' fel," he croaked at me. "Hurrah for C'fedrate States of
America!"

"Very well," I said to him, "suppose we do hurrah for the Confederate
States of America. But let us wait until there is such a thing."

He glowered at me. "Also," he said, solemnly, "Hurrah for Miss Grace
Sheraton, the pretties' girl in whole C'federate States America!"

"Harry," I cried, "stop! You're drunk, man. Come on, I'll take you
home."

He waved at me an uncertain hand. "Go 'way, slight man!" he muttered.
"Grace Sheraton pretties' girl in whole C'federate States America."

According to our creed it was not permissible for a gentleman, drunk or
sober, to mention a lady's name in a place like that. I rose and put my
hand across Harry's mouth, unwilling that a stranger should hear a
girl's name mentioned in the place. No doubt I should have done quite as
much for any girl of our country whose name came up in that way. But to
my surprise Harry Singleton was just sufficiently intoxicated to resent
the act of his best friend. With no word of warning he drew back his
hand and struck me in the face with all his force, the blow making a
smart crack which brought all the others running from within. Still, I
reflected, that this was not the act of Harry Singleton, but only that
of a drunken man who to-morrow would not remember what had been done.