There was a stony silence.
"How long's this —— game goin to last?—that's what I want to know," came the black and bitter voice at last.
The ghastly treble chimed in:
"That's what I says to im last night when e come his rounds. 'We're only poor chaps, my lord,' says I. 'We've lost alf the number of our mess in your service. And now I'd make bold to ask how long you're goin to keep us here?'
"'Why,' says he, suckin his hanky, 'that depends on your sweet selves. You may go as soon as you've took the cottage.'
"'And what if the sogers come first?' I says. 'There's a camp at Lewes, you know, my lord.'
"'Why then,' says he, and I lay he thought he was funny, 'I'll leave you to the hands of your beloved compatriots. And what can a good man want more'n that?'
"'We're the Gap Gang, my lord,' says I.
"'Well,' says he, 'if that don't suit you, hurry up and take the cottage and have done with it. I'm gettin tired o this messin about business.'
"'Beg pardon, my lord,' says I, 'but what are we to ave for our trouble, when we ave took it?'