“With a Doctor—Doctor Slammer, of the Ninety-seventh,” said Mr. Winkle, wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible; “an affair with an officer, seconded by another officer, at sunset this evening, in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt.”
“I will attend you,” said Mr. Snodgrass.
He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is extraordinary how cool any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle had forgotten this. He had judged of his friend’s feelings by his own.
“The consequences may be dreadful,” said Mr. Winkle.
“I hope not,” said Mr. Snodgrass.
“The Doctor, I believe, is a very good shot,” said Mr. Winkle.
“Most of these military men are,” observed Mr. Snodgrass, calmly; “but so are you, an’t you?”
Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative; and perceiving that he had not alarmed his companion sufficiently, changed his ground.
“Snodgrass,” he said, in a voice tremulous with emotion, “if I fall, you will find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my—for my father.”
This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected, but he undertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been a Twopenny Postman.