At a table a man had
just risen as if from work on some papers. As the man turned to
come forward and his eyes fell upon the lad he paused as if
surprised. Ned Napier was neither large nor small for his age. But
his circumstances had been such, financially, that his attire was
plain and perhaps old fashioned--much of it the handiwork of his
frugal and fond mother; and the absence of smart and up-to-date
ideas in clothes and shoes made him look, perhaps, even younger than
his years. Other lads of his acquaintance--those in his classes in
high school--aped their elders. Ned's time and interests were too
much given up to his boyish ambition to permit this.
Ned saw a man of about sixty years, with snow-white moustache,
dressed in blue. The man had every appearance of being both a
soldier and an officer. His face was tanned as if by much exposure
to the sun, but the line of white at the top of his forehead, where
his hat gave protection, suggested that the color was both recent
and transitory. Major Honeywell's hair, which was yet dark and only
slightly streaked with gray, was too long to suggest present active
service, as Ned at once concluded.
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