Everything of value that
could be carried was taken out, and the larger statues and vases were
broken to pieces. Then the woodwork was cut away and piled up for
firewood, and finally the whole pile set on fire. In all this work the
leader was a sergeant of infantry who seemed to have a natural talent
for it. Sam had noticed him before at the burning of the other temples,
but now he showed himself more conspicuously capable. As the work of
piling inflammable material against the walls of polished marble,
inlaid with ivory, was nearing completion, Sam sent for this man so
that he might thank and congratulate him. The soldier came up, his
hands black with charcoal and his face smudged as well.
"You've done well, sergeant," said Sam. "I will mention you to the
general when we return."
"Thank you, sir," said the man, and his voice sounded strangely
familiar. Sam peered into his face. He had certainly seen it before.
"What is your name, sergeant?"
"Thatcher, sir."
"Why, of course, you're Thatcher--Josh Thatcher of Slowburgh. Don't you
remember that night at the hotel when we had a drink together? Don't
you remember Captain Jinks?"
"Yes, sir, but I didn't know you was he--a colonel, too, sir," said the
man, as Sam shook his hand warmly.
"I'm glad to see that you're doing credit to your town," said Sam.
"They'll be surprised to hear it at home, sir," said Thatcher.
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