"That's truth, sir," Cai admitted, scratching his head again; "and more by token, 'tis about the only thing the book has forgot to praise 'ee for."
"Perhaps," said the Major, in his bitterness almost achieving a witticism, "the author felt 'twould be out of place."
"But all this apart, sir, I don't see how you'll get along without money."
"Make your mind easy on that score, my friend. I rather fancy that I'm provided for; but if that should prove to be a mistake, I may come to you for advice."
"Marryin'?" queried Cai. "But no; with a wooden leg—you'll excuse me—"
"Devil take the man! You can't argue that womenkind are squeamish."
Cai grinned, "You'll take on this little job, anyway, sir? I can't very well go to his Worship an' beg you off; it might set him suspectin'."
"I'll take the job," said the Major, hastily.
"Brayvo! But what I'd like to do"—Cai rubbed his chin reflectively—"is to get that cussed book written over agen, an' written different."
"Give it time," his master answered sadly. "Maybe even that is a job that will get itself done one of these days."