“Indeed!” said Skeff, with the very faintest possible sarcasm.
“As I tell you, sir. Colonel M'Caskey might have saved that city; and, instead of it, he is rumbling along over a paved road, going heaven knows where, with heaven knows whom, for heaven knows what!”
“You are either rude or forgetful, sir. I have already told you my name and quality.”
“So you have, Skeff; but as a man rises in the service, he forgets the name of the uncommissioned officers. You are attaché, or what is it?”
“I am Chargé d'Affaires of Great Britain.”
“And devilish few will be the affairs you 'll have in your charge this day week.”
“How do you make out that?”
“First of all, if we are to pass through our lines to reach Garibaldi, all our fellows will fire a parting salute after us as we go,—ay, and with ball. Secondly, as we approach the rebels, they 'll pay us the same attention.”
“Not with our flag of truce flying.”
“Your flag of truce, Skeffy, will only show them that we come unarmed, and make their aim all the steadier in consequence.”