and he was hungry, too, but he was willing to wait.

All the troops were South Carolinians except Harry and perhaps a dozen
others. 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. Langdon's good spirits were contagious even to a nature
much more serious.