They were a pleasant lot, quick of temper, perhaps, but he liked them.

Their prevailing note was high spirits, and the most cheerful of all was a tall youth named Tom Langdon, whose father owned one of the smaller of the sea islands off the South Carolina coast.
He was quite sanguine that everything would go exactly as they wished.
The Yankees would not fight, but, if by any chance they did fight, they would get a most terrible thrashing.

Tom, with a tin cup full of coffee in one hand and a tin plate containing ham and bread in the other, sat down by the side of Harry and leaned back against the log also.
Harry had never seen a picture of more supreme content than his face showed.
"In thirty-six hours we'll have a new President, do you appreciate that fact, Harry Kenton ?" asked young Langdon.
"I do," replied Harry, "and it makes me think pretty hard." "What's the use of worrying?
Why, it's just the biggest picnic that I ever took part in, and if the Yankees object to our setting up for ourselves I fancy we'll have to go up there and teach 'em to mind their own business.

I wouldn't object, Harry, to a march at somebody else's expense to New York and Philadelphia and Boston.

I suppose those cities are worth seeing." Harry laughed.