BURGOYNE.
I do not express my opinion. I never stoop to that habit of profane language which unfortunately coarsens our profession. If I did, sir, perhaps I should be able to express my opinion of the news from Springtown—the news which YOU (severely) have apparently not heard. How soon do you get news from your supports here?—in the course of a month eh?
SWINDON.
(turning sulky). I suppose the reports have been taken to you, sir, instead of to me. Is there anything serious?
BURGOYNE.
(taking a report from his pocket and holding it up). Springtown’s in the hands of the rebels. (He throws the report on the table.)
SWINDON.
(aghast). Since yesterday!
BURGOYNE.
Since two o’clock this morning. Perhaps WE shall be in their hands before two o’clock to-morrow morning. Have you thought of that?
SWINDON.
(confidently). As to that, General, the British soldier will give a good account of himself.
BURGOYNE.
(bitterly). And therefore, I suppose, sir, the British officer need not know his business: the British soldier will get him out of all his blunders with the bayonet. In future, sir, I must ask you to be a little less generous with the blood of your men, and a little more generous with your own brains.
SWINDON.
I am sorry I cannot pretend to your intellectual eminence, sir. I can only do my best, and rely on the devotion of my countrymen.
BURGOYNE.
(suddenly becoming suavely sarcastic). May I ask are you writing a melodrama, Major Swindon?
SWINDON.
(flushing). No, sir.