Going on with his blacking, yet stopping ever
and anon to glance over the General's plan of campaign, spread on
the table before him, he was at last interrupted by the entrance of
an officer.
"Everything is ready for the attack, General. It is now eight
o'clock."
"Impossible! It is only half-past seven."
"But my watch and the watches of your staff--"
"Are regulated by my kitchen clock, that has been in my family for
years. Enough! It is only half-past seven."
The officer retired; the boot-black had finished one boot. Another
officer appeared.
"Instead of attacking the enemy, General, we are attacked
ourselves. Our pickets are already driven in."
"Military pickets should not differ from other pickets,"
interrupted the boot-black, modestly. "To stand firmly they should
be well driven in."
"Ha! there is something in that," said the General, thoughtfully.
"But who are you, who speak thus?"
Rising to his full height, the boot-black threw off his outer rags,
and revealed the figure of the Boy Chief of the "Pigeon Feet.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190