Bare boughs and brown grass went
past their windows and the fields were deserted. The landscape looked
chill and sullen.
Warner was less depressed than Dick. He had an even temperament based
solidly upon mathematical calculations. He knew that while it might
be raining today, the chances were several to one against its raining
tomorrow.
"I've good cause to remember Baltimore," he said. "I was with the New
England troops when they had the fight there on the way down to the
capital. Although we hold it, it's really a Southern city, Dick.
Most all the border cities are Southern in sympathy, and they're
swarming with people who will send to the Southern leaders news of every
movement we make. I state, and moreover I assert it in the face of
all the world, that the knowledge of our departure from Washington
is already in Southern hands. By close mathematical calculation the
chances are at least ninety-five per cent in favor of my statement."
"Very likely," said Dick, "and we'll have that sort of thing to face all
the time when we invade the South. We've got to win this war, George,
by hard fighting, and then more hard fighting, and then more and more of
the same."
"Guess you're right. Arithmetic shows at least one hundred per cent of
probability in favor of your suggestion."
Dick looked up and down the long coach packed with young troops.
Besides the commissioned officers and the sergeants, there was not one
in the coach who was twenty-five.
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