"But, Captain, you cannot put it on," remonstrated Peter, a squarely built man with eyes of a porcelain blue.
"Then how in the world do you suppose that I'm to get past the sentries?"
"You'll be carried."
"And let every man of them know that this gentleman and I have been fighting in his Majesty's park! Tut, tut; you'll have them both arrested in a jiffy. Give me my coat!"
"You cannot get your arm into it."
"My worthy Peter, you're my excellent lieutenant and a fair seaman; but I begin to doubt if you'll ever make a captain. You've no resource. Take your knife. Now slit down the inner seam of the sleeve—so. Now lift me up and help me into it."
He stood on his legs. His face was a trifle pale, but he kept his jaw set firmly.
"Now button the sleeve at the wrist."
"But it still gapes above."
"Of course it does. Therefore we will walk arm-in-arm; only you must hold me very gently. There, that's it." He nodded stiffly, and was moving away on Peter's arm when Captain Barker interposed.