“And so would I, sir,” he answered. “And the Lord knows it. It needn't all go in tobacco, I suppose, sir?” He had taken up the coin and was holding it in his thumb and finger by this time. “Any kind o' little comfort 'l do as well, sir?”
“Any kind of little comfort, as you say,” I answered.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the coin. “You're an Englishman and you're a gentleman, sir, and I'm very much obliged to you.”
I made no answer, for I wanted to see if my man would talk. I thought he looked as if he would like to ease his mind.
“You haven't been over the fortress, have you, sir?” I shook my head. “Miserable kind of an 'ole it is, sir, for a man to live in. I think I should go stark, starin', ravin' mad if I was to live there long, sir.”
“So bad as that?” I asked.
“You may well say that, sir,” he rejoined. “I've got a nice, easy, comfortable place along with the general, and I don't want to lose it. So long as we're in Vienna or anywhere else but here, I'm satisfied. But here! Why, good Lord, sir, it's simply sickening.”
I supposed it was pretty dull.
“Oh, it's dull enough, sir, but it ain't that. It's what you may call such a miserable hole, sir. There's nothing like it in old England, thank God, sir!”
“Have they many prisoners here?” I asked.