He had looked at the youth for encouragement several times.

He received none, but gradually he seemed to get absorbed in his subject.
"I was talkin' 'cross pickets with a boy from Georgie, onct, an' that boy, he ses, 'Your fellers 'll all run like hell when they onct hearn a gun,' he ses.

'Mebbe they will,' I ses, 'but I don't b'lieve none of it,' I ses; 'an' b'jiminey,' I ses back t' 'um, 'mebbe your fellers 'll all run like hell when they onct hearn a gun,' I ses.

He larfed.
Well, they didn't run t' day, did they, hey?
No, sir! They fit, an' fit, an' fit." His homely face was suffused with a light of love for the army which was to him all things beautiful and powerful.
After a time he turned to the youth.

"Where yeh hit, ol' boy ?" he asked in a brotherly tone.
The youth felt instant panic at this question, although at first its full import was not borne in upon him.
"What ?" he asked.
"Where yeh hit ?" repeated the tattered man.
"Why," began the youth, "I--I--that is--why--I--" He turned away suddenly and slid through the crowd.