"Bladburn, John," was the reply.

"That's rather an unwieldy name for everyday use," put in Strong. "If it
wouldn't hurt your feelings, I'd like to call you Quite So,--for short.
Don't say no, if you don't like it. Is it agreeable?"

Bladburn gave a little laugh, all to himself, seemingly, and was about
to say, "Quite so," when he caught at the words, blushed like a girl,
and nodded a sunny assent to Strong. From that day until the end, the
sobriquet clung to him.

The disaster at Bull Run was followed, as the reader knows, by a long
period of masterly inactivity, so far as the Army of the Potomac was
concerned. McDowell, a good soldier but unlucky, retired to Arlington
Heights, and McClellan, who had distinguished himself in Western
Virginia, took command of the forces in front of Washington, and bent
his energies to reorganizing the demoralized troops. It was a dreary
time to the people of the North, who looked fatuously from week to week
for "the fall of Richmond"; and it was a dreary time to the denizens of
that vast city of tents and forts which stretched in a semicircle before
the beleaguered Capitol,--so tedious and soul-wearing a time that the
hardships of forced marches and the horrors of battle became desirable
things to them.

Roll-call morning and evening, guard-duty, dress-parades, an occasional
reconnaissance, dominoes, wrestling-matches, and such rude games as
could be carried on in camp made up the sum of our lives. The arrival of
the mail with letters and papers from home was the event of the day. We
noticed that Bladburn neither wrote nor received any letters. When the