“Ten miles? Well, of all the confounded impudence,” retorted Jack, as he strolled off with Dan into the darkness.
For a time they walked in silence, depressed by hunger and the exhaustion of the march; then Dan broke into a whistle, and presently they found themselves walking in step with the merry air.
“Where are your thoughts, Beau?” asked Jack suddenly, turning to look at him by the faint starlight.
Dan's whistle stopped abruptly.
“On a dish of fried chicken and a pot of coffee,” he replied at once.
“What's become of the waffles?” demanded Jack indignantly. “I say, old man, do you remember the sinful waste on those blessed Christmas Eves at Chericoke? I've been trying to count the different kinds of meat—roast beef, roast pig, roast goose, roast turkey—”
“Hold your tongue, won't you?”
“Well, I was just thinking that if I ever reach home alive I'll deliver the Major a lecture on his extravagance.”
“It isn't the Major; it's grandma,” groaned Dan.
“Oh, that queen among women!” exclaimed Jack fervently; “but the wines are the Major's, I reckon,—it seems to me I recall some port of which he was vastly proud.”