‘Let go, can’t you,’ said H. O. ‘Are you the General?’
Before the Cocked Hat had time to frame a reply, Alice spoke to the Colonel. I knew what she meant to say, because she had told me as we threaded our way among the resting soldiery. What she really said was—
‘Oh, how CAN you!’
‘How can I WHAT?’ said the Colonel, rather crossly.
‘Why, SMOKE?’ said Alice.
‘My good children, if you’re an infant Band of Hope, let me recommend you to play in some other backyard,’ said the Cock-Hatted Man.
H. O. said, ‘Band of Hope yourself’—but no one noticed it.
‘We’re NOT a Band of Hope,’ said Noel. ‘We’re British, and the man over there told us you are. And Maidstone’s in danger, and the enemy not a mile off, and you stand SMOKING.’ Noel was standing crying, himself, or something very like it.
‘It’s quite true,’ Alice said.
The Colonel said, ‘Fiddle-de-dee.’