“But the story, Major, the story!”
“Nor the story, either.”
“What,” said Power, “will you break faith with us?”
“There’s none to be kept with reprobates like you. Fill my glass.”
“Hold there! stop!” cried Power. “Not a spoonful till he redeems his pledge.”
“Well, then, if you must have a story,—for most assuredly I must drink,—I have no objection to give you a leaf from my early reminiscences; and in compliment to Sparks there, my tale shall be of love.”
“I dinna like to lose the king’s story. I hae my thoughts it was na a bad ane.”
“Nor I neither, Doctor; but—”
“Come, come, you shall have that too, the first night we meet in a bivouac, and as I fear the time may not be very far distant, don’t be impatient; besides a love-story—”
“Quite true,” said Power, “a love-story claims precedence; place aux dames. There’s a bumper for you, old wickedness; so go along.”