“Do so, do so,” said the old gentleman, and took his arm again, as it might have been his own walking-stick. They went on together, and in a little the stranger had opened a conversation with all the effrontery in the world.
“My boy, what’s your rank?” said he. “I perceive you are a soldier.”
The officer stared, and drew himself up.
“Colonel Manton, sir, at your service,” he answered distantly.
He was surprised; but the man was old, near seventy by his appearance, and very possibly from his cut a retired veteran like himself. Familiarity from a general, say, would be pardonable, and even kindly. Besides, he did not dislike the implied suggestion of juniority.
“Hey!” said the stranger—“retired?”
“Yes, sir, retired.”
“Brevet rank?”
“Brevet be damned!” said Colonel Manton hotly. “I owe my promotion, sir, if you wish to know, to Waterloo.”
The stranger glanced at him with a curiously sly look, and pinched the arm on which his own fingers rested.